










































































































































































































































































































ClA_ 

ox 


eopya 


COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 























* 

£ 

* 


■ 












* • • 











i 








•« 



























t 
















“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


BY TEE SAME AUTHOR 


HAPPY RASCALS 

“A book suck as this restores the hope 
that the spirit of humor has not wholly 
perished from the earth.” 

—Philadelphia Ledger. 

“Any reader who desires to have a most 
enjoyable time is urged to get hold of 
‘Happy Rascals.’ ”— The New York Times. 

“A solid chunk of entertainment from 
cover to cover.”— The Literary Review, 
New York Evening Post. 


E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 





/ 

“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


BY 

F. MORTON HOWARD 

Author of “ Happy Rascals,” etc. 





} > 
) > i 


) 


j 


) 




5 


NEW YORK 

E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 

681 Fifth Avenue 

(V Ima 








Copyright, 1923 

By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 
AU right* reserved 




Printed in the United States of America 

MAY -3 1523 >/ 

©C1A?052?4 

0*0 *v 




TO 

Pa&ifc Ufyitdata 



CONTENTS 


EPISODE 

I. 

II. 

III. 

IV. 
V. 

VI. 

VII. 

VIII. 

IX. 

X. 


“Strictly Business”. 

A Watching Brief . 

Circumstantial Evidence .... 

Black Cats are Always Lucky 

A Matter of Advertisement . 

“All’s Fair-”. 

Hidden Treasure. 

A Special Performance . .• 

The Green Eyes of the Little Birming¬ 
ham God. 

The Girl He Left Behind Him 


vii 


PAGE 

1 

27 

53 

75 

101 

124 

144 

167 

192 

215 




/ 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 




“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


EPISODE I 

“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 

I N at least three inns, the landlords, on hearing the 
news, spoke words of grave warning to their assis¬ 
tants. More than one inexperienced tradesman, fool¬ 
ishly finding satisfaction in the tidings, began to 
rummage eagerly among old accounts. In the local 
police-station, the inspector instructed his subordinates 
to stand no nonsense. And the harbour-master removed 
his rabbits from outside his kitchen door to an apart¬ 
ment at the top of the house. 

The “Jane Gladys,” after long absence, was hack 
again in her home port. 

Doomed to pleasant disappointment, however, were 
such good folks of Shorehaven as anticipated any spec¬ 
tacular ill-conduct that evening on the part of the re¬ 
turned crew. Before the rope fender of the despicable 
“Jane Gladys” had rubbed the sides of the quay for 
five minutes, an atmosphere of heavy gloom had settled 
upon the hardy mariners who peopled her, and this 
though they had arrived in port in the best of spirits, 
and were, moreover, furnished with several half-formu- 



2 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


lated plans of campaign which only awaited the inspira¬ 
tion of environment to touch success in the form of 
financial or liquid bonuses. 

For the harbour-master, ever ready to placate the 
“Jane Gladys,” was waiting on the quay for her with 
such correspondence as had come addressed to her in 
her absence. And Captain Peter Dutt, taking his mail 
and sorting through it perfunctorily, found his atten¬ 
tion arrested by an envelope imperatively marked 
“Urgent.” 

Ripping it open, he glanced rapidly through the mis¬ 
sive it contained. This done, he pushed his cap to the 
back of his head with a helpless gesture, blowing ster- 
torously, and then read the letter for a second time. 

After that, he stared about the vessel for some while, 
blinking incredulously. At last, with a comprehensive 
sweep of his arm, he summoned his crew about him. 
Leaving their labours to be completed by indignant 
hands on the quay, they gathered round the plump 
little form of Captain Dutt. 

“Boys,” announced the skipper, simply, “the show’s 
bust!” 

There was a startled, perplexed silence, and then the 
voice of Mr. Joseph Tridge rose aggrievedly. 

“What ’ave they been finding out about us now?” 
he wanted to know. “Some folks is never ’appy with¬ 
out they’re trying to make mischief. What are we 
supposed to ’ave done wrong now, eh?” 

“It can’t be that chap we sold the fish to in Star- 
cross,” declared Mr. Horace Dobb, the cook. “Because 
I saw ’im the night before we left, and ’e never said 
a word about it to me. Kept ’is ’ead turned stiff the 
other way all the time, in fact.” 

“There was that chap in Teignmouth,” recalled the 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


3 


aged Mr. Samuel Clark, uncomfortably. “You know, 
what we sold the—the tobaccer to.” 

“ ’Im ?” returned Horace, the cook, with scorn. 
“ ’E ’asn’t got a leg to stand on. I never told dm it 
was smuggled tobaccer, did I ? I simply said it was 
stuff that ’adn’t paid duty. No more it ’ad! Serves 
dm right for jumping to conclusions, just because a 
sailorman’s carrying a parcel on a dark night!” 

“Yes, boys,” said the skipper, with a long, quivering 
sigh, as one awakening to cold reality from a happy 
dream, “it’s all over! All over! Itchybod!” he 
remarked, with sad satisfaction in finding the word. 
“Itchybod, that’s it!” 

“And ’oo’s ’e?” truculently demanded Mr. Tridge. 
“What’s ’e got to say against us ? Why, I’ll take my 
oath I ain’t ever even ’eard of ’im before!” 

“It ain’t a ’im,” explained the skipper. “It’s a bit 
of clarsical learning I’ve picked up in Latin, and it 
means ‘the game’s up.’ Boys, prepare for the worst!” 

“Which of us?” asked Mr. Horace Dobb, not with¬ 
out apprehension. 

“All of us!” replied the skipper. “Our owner’s giv¬ 
ing up business, and ’e’s goin to sell all ’is ships!” 

Again there was a hush, and then, from the hinder 
spaces of this period of shock, there crept forth the 
voice of Mr. Horace Dobb, the cook, attuned to a sweet 
reasonableness. 

“We’ll be all right,” he contended. “Just as if any¬ 
body would ever buy the old Mane Gladys’!” 

“Except,” slowly said Mr. Clark, “to break ’er up!” 

As some ill-omened sound in the still watches of the 
night may paralyze its hearers into a cold, suffocating 
inaction, so did the grisly words of Mr. Clark bring his 
companions to silent, wide-eyed consternation. The 



4 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


debonair Mr. Peter Lock was the first to recover, but, 
though he roundly stigmatized Mr. Clark as being a 
gloomy old horror, there was no elasticity in his tone, 
and his effort to exhibit unconcern by lighting a cigarette 
was marred by the manifest shaking of his fingers. 

“Well, there it is, boys,” presently said the skipper, 
with an unconvincing attempt at briskness. “It’s as 
much a surprise to me as it is to you. For myself, 
I shan’t go to sea again after the next trip. The owner’s 
fixing me up a bit of a pension. And as for you chaps 
—well, if you’ll take my advice, you’ll start looking 
round for fresh jobs without delay.” 

“And they’ll take some finding,” stated Mr. Horace 
Fobb. “ ’Oo is likely to engage us off the ‘J ane Gladys’ 
I’d like to know?” he asked the skipper, with some 
indignation. 

“Some’ow the fact that we’ve sailed on the Mane 
Gladys’ doesn’t seem to be a recommendation,” men¬ 
tioned Mr. Clark, regretfully. 

“Contrariwise!” said Mr. Tridge, tersely. 

“She might be bought up and repaired and repainted 
and refitted,” ventured Captain Dutt, but with no great 
hope. 

“ ’Er new owners would never keep us on, though,” 
frankly opined Mr. Tridge. “They’ll ’ave ’eard too 
much about us.” 

“Ho, liindeed ?” said Horace, loftily. “Well, in that 
case, I don’t know as I’m anxious to sail under folks 
what listen to gossip.” 

“Luckily, we’ve got a full week before we leaves ’ere 
again,” remarked the skipper. “That’ll give you time 
to keep your ears open, and, if any of you finds any¬ 
thing to suit you meantime, I shan’t stand in the way 
of you leaving when you want to. And it’ll be about 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS’’ 


5 


two months before the ‘Jane Gladys’ is put up for 
auction, so you’ll ’ave plenty of time to go on looking 

round.” 

“And so we shall after them two months,” dismally 
foretold Mr. Samuel Clark. “When first I come on this 
boat, twenty-seven years ago,” he told the skipper, re¬ 
proachfully, “I was given to understand it was a per¬ 
manent job. If I’d known-” 

“Well, there it is,” said Captain Dutt, again rather 
lamely, “and it can’t be helped.” 

He waited a little while, uncomfortably conscious of 
the unhappy visages of his crew. Then, with symptoms 
of commendable emotion, he scuttled to his cabin. The 
mate, hitherto silent, addressed to the crew a few words 
of sympathy with himself, and followed his superior. 
The four sailormen of the “Jane Gladys,” bleakly re¬ 
garding each other, expressed their feelings in this crisis 
in a sort of forceful, rumbling fugue. This done, they 
sulkily retired to their bunks, to lie down and medi¬ 
tate over th& impending upheaval in their affairs. 

But before long Mr. Clark began to snore clialleng- 
ingly, while Mr. Lock sought distraction of mind by 
rising and performing a number of arias on his melo- 
deon, whereat Mr. Tridge, a slave to music, sat up 
and joined his voice to the harmony in a melancholy 
wail which he called “tenor.” 

Mr. Horace Dobb, the cook, was a man of tempera¬ 
ment, and he found himself keenly resenting these en¬ 
croachments on his ruminations. A person who openly 
plumed himself on the possession of superior brain 
power, he now desired opportunity to explore this gift 
to the fullest. Also, he had in his pocket a shilling 
which he preferred to spend privily, rather than in 
the company of Mr. Clark, who had but ninepence, or 



6 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


of Mr. Lock, whose sole wealth was fourpence, or of 
Mr. Tridge, who had nothing at all. 

Wherefore, then, Mr. Horace Dobb, crying aloud his 
utmost annoyance at this disturbal of his peace, bounced 
from his bunk and repaired to the bar-parlour of the 
“Jolly Sailors,” a discreet inn on the quayside which 
gave promise of being an excellent refuge where a man, 
equipped with a shilling, and an anxiety about an un¬ 
settled future, might commune comfortably with his 
thoughts. 

In this sanctuary the cook of the “Jane Gladys” re¬ 
mained for some while, with his cogitations becoming 
lighter and lighter in texture with every lift of his 
glass, till presently he had reverted to the normal, and 
was once again looking on the world as nothing more 
formidable than a vast territory bristling with chances 
for a quick-witted sea-cook to grasp. 

And, therefore, when the door opened to admit Cap¬ 
tain Simon Gooster, of the “Alert,” it was but natural 
that Horace’s bouyant imagination should present to him 
the bulky figure of the new-comer as not being alone, 
but as stalking in arm-in-arm with smiling Opportunity. 

“Evening, sir,” said Horace, very respectfully. 

Captain Gooster nodded, glanced at the measure 
which Horace had hastily emptied, and then, disap¬ 
pointedly, glanced away again. Mr. Dobb ventured to 
commend the weather, to which Captain Gooster re¬ 
sponded, absently, and, indeed, somewhat fretfully. 
Horace at once conceded that doubtless Captain Gooster 
was right, but the skipper of the “Alert,” passing on, 
selected a seat in a remote corner and there posed un¬ 
sociably. 

Mr. Dobb, dissembling his irritation, entered into 
casual talk with another patron, who, it transpired, had 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


7 


a precocious child at home, an infant whose sallies so 
diverted Mr. Dobb that soon his glass was being re¬ 
filled for him by order of the gratified parent. Im¬ 
mediately after, Horace’s interest in the prodigy seemed 
suddenly to wane, though this was due less to thank¬ 
fulness than to the fact that he had perceived Captain 
Gooster to be looking at him in a concentrated and 
speculative manner. 

The captain’s stare fascinated Horace, and continu¬ 
ally his eyes roved back to the skipper of the “Alert,” 
and each time he accorded Captain Gooster a more 
ingratiating leer on meeting his gaze. At last Cap¬ 
tain Gooster beckoned authoritatively and patted the 
empty chair beside him, whereat Mr. Dobb readily 
sprang to his feet and took the indicated place, leaving 
the sire of the infant prodigy indignantly helpless in 
the very middle of a family anecdote. 

“You’re the cook of the Mane Gladys,’ ain’t you?” 
opened Captain Gooster. 

“At present, sir,” said Mr. Dobb. 

“I’ve ’eard about you,” remarked Captain Gooster. 

“I dare say you ’ave, sir,” guardedly returned Mr. 
Dobb. 

“You’re the one they call ’Grace,” continued the 
other. 

“Mostly, sir,” agreed Mr. Dobb. 

“Mind you, I ain’t the kind of man ’oo’s fool enough 
to believe all he hears,” said the skipper of the “Alert.” 

“Thank you, sir,” replied Horace, gratefully. 

“I’ve ’eard Cap’n Dutt say you’re a real smart, sharp, 
clever chap.” 

“Ah, well, of course ’e does know what ’e’s talking 
about, sir,” observed Horace, with the air of one making 
a concession. 


8 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“I’ve ’eard old Peter Dutt keep on by tbe hour about 
your cleverness and artfulness,” said Captain Gooster. 
“ ’E swears you’re a wonder, and, if ’alf ’e says about 
you is true, so you are.” 

Mr. Dobb, nodding his head, modestly refrained from 
speech. Captain Gooster, as though he had satisfac¬ 
torily disposed of all preliminaries, sat back and stroked 
his chin in thought for some moments. 

“I’m glad I came across you to-night, ’Orace,” he 
said, at length. “A man with a ’ead-piece—that’s what 
I’m looking for.” 

“Well, that is lucky!” declared Horace. “I’m look¬ 
ing out for another job and the ‘Alert’ would just suit 
me.” 

“Yes, I ’eard about the ‘Jane Gladys,’ ” said Captain 
Gooster, slowly. “But I wasn’t looking out for a man 
for my crew. It’s just a private matter. You ’elp 
me, if you can, and as far as a pint or two goes-” 

“You’ll excuse me, sir,” interrupted Mr. Dobb, with 
dignity, “but brain work ain’t bought with pints, nor 
quarts, neither. I’m looking for a job, not a evening 
out.” 

“Well, we’ll see,” temporized the master of the 
“Alert.” “If you needs a job and does me a good 
turn, I ain’t the man to forget it.” 

“Thank you, sir; and a gentleman’s word is good 
enough for me!” stated Mr. Dobb, profusely. “And 
you won’t ever regret taking me on the ‘Alert.’ And 
I can start this week with you, if you like.” 

“Steady!” begged the startled captain. “Why, you 
ain’t even ’eard what the trouble is yet.” 

“I’ll soon settle it, sir, whatever it is,” vaunted 
Horace. “Just you tell me about it, and leave the 
rest to me.” 




“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


9 


“Well, then,” said Captain Gooster, confidentially, 
“to begin with, you must know I’m a widower.” 

“Ah, I see! You’ve been a-carrying on,” diagnosed 
the cook, cheerfully. “Well, we’ll soon choke 9 er off. 
I reckon, on the ‘Alert,’ you ought to pay me-” 

“A widower!” repeated Captain Gooster, frowning 
at Mr. Dobb’s precipitancy. “And I don’t mind con¬ 
fessing to you that I was disappointed in my marriage. 
You see, I married for love.” 

“Oh, well-” commented Horace, shrugging his 

shoulders. 

“And she married me for my money.” 

“Ah, women’ll do anything for money,” said Mr. 
Dobb. 

Captain Gooster, sitting suddenly erect, dissected the 
observation in silence. 

“I can see what a disappointment it must ’ave been 
for both of you,” continued Horace. “ ’Owever, let’s 
’ope you ’ave better luck next time, sir.” 

“I mean to!” asserted Captain Gooster. “Marrying 
for love is a snare and a sham and a deloosion. I’ve 
learned wisdom. ‘Strictly business!’ that’s my motter 
in future.” 

“And it ain’t a bad motter, neither, sir,” approved 
Mr. Dobb, thoughtfully. “Strictly business!” he re¬ 
peated, nodding his head over it. “It’s a jolly good 
motter.” 

“Yes, and next time,” went on Captain Gooster, “I 
marries for money. And I may add, what’s more, that 
I’ve got my eye on a certain lady already.” 

“ ’As she got ’er eye on you, though ?” queried Hor¬ 
ace, sagely. 

“She ’as. In fact, not to beat about the bush, both 
of ’em ’as!” 




10 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Both of ’em?” queried Horace. 

“There’s two parties,” explained the master of the 
“Alert.” “I’m keeping my eye upon both of ’em.” 

“Once I ’ad my eye on two parties at the same time,” 
recalled Mr. Dobb. “One day they got introduced to 
each other. And I went ’ome in a cab.” 

“My two ’ave known each other all their lives.” 

“Well, they won’t go on knowing each other much 
longer,” acutely prophesied Mr. Dobb. 

“And they lives together in the same ’ouse.” 

“If you’ll excuse me saying so,” observed Horace, 
civilly, “you’ve got a dashed sight more pluck than 
sense. Two in the some town is bad enough for the 
’eart, with all the excitement you get in turning a 
corner when you’re out with one of ’em. But two in 
the same ’ouse-” 

“It’s mother and daughter, you see,” elucidated 
Captain Gooster. “Goffley is the name. Mrs. Goffley 
is a widow, and Ann’s ’er daughter. They live in 
Shorehaven ’ere.” 

“First I’ve ’eard of ’em,” said Horace. 

“Ah, they’re new-comers. They bought that little 
second-’and shop what Meyers used to keep at the cor¬ 
ner of Fore Street. A snug little business. It only 
wants a man be’ind it, and it’ll be a little copper-mine.” 

“And you’ve chosen yourself to be the man be’ind 
it ? Good luck to you, sir!” 

“What with my little bit saved up, and my job on 
the ‘Alert,’ and the little shop earning profits at ’ome, 
I shan’t be doing so badly for my old age,” stated 
Captain Gooster, complacently. “But there’s just one 
little drawback—I shall ’ave to marry one of them twe 
females, and each time I imagine myself married to 



“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


11 


one, I finds myself wishing it ’ad been the other. You’ve 
only to see ’em both, and you’d understand.” 

“Well, which of ’em’s got the money?” asked Mr. 
Dobb. “That ought to settle the question easy enough.” 

“That’s just the trouble. I can’t find out for certain 
which of ’em ’as got the cash. I’ve ’eard rumours 
that old Goffley left all ’is money to ’is daughter, with 
instructions to ’er to look after ’er ma. And then I’ve 
’eard rumours that ’e’s left everything to ’is wife, with 
instructions to look after ’er daughter. Far as I can 
see,” disconsolately ended Captain Gooster, “whichever 
of them females I marries, I shall always ’ave the other 
as a burden round my neck.” 

“Which of ’em gives all the orders?” inquired Mr. 
Dobb. “ ’Oo is the boss of the two ?” 

“They both bosses,” returned the skipper of the 
“Alert.” “And they both tries to boss each other, 
most independent. That’s what makes it so difficult. 
I’ve tried all ways to find out which is the one I ought 
to make up to, but I can’t. And that’s where I want 
your ’elp.” 

“I see,” said Horace, softly. “That’s what you’re 
going to give me a job on the ‘Alert’ for, eh ?” 

“Well, you get this job settled satisfactory for me, 
and you won’t ’ave no cause to complain,” promised 
Captain Gooster. “You be ’elpful to me and you’ll 
be ’elpful to yourself.” 

“Well, suppose you was to ask ’em straight out, sort 
of joking like, which one of ’em ’ad got the money,” 
suggested Horace, but with no great confidence. 

“Tried that!” retorted Captain Gooster, curtly. “No 
good.” 

“Which of ’em seemed most annoyed at the ques- 


12 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


tion?” asked Mr. Dobb, shrewdly. “&hed be the one 
’oo ’adn’t got any.” 

“They neither of them said nothing. They just 
looked at me, and I began to talk about the weather.” 

Horace, leaning back, folded his arms and tightly 
closed his eyes. Captain Gooster realizing that his 
companion was thus incubating thought, forbore from 
offering further speech, but sat waiting in some anxiety 
for demonstration of Mr. Dobb’s ingenuity. 

“You’ll ’ave to take me up there and let me see 
’em,” said Horace, at length. “Introdooce me to ’em 
as the new cook you’re signing for the ‘Alert.’ That’ll 
be the truth, so it’ll be quite all right.” 

“What ? A skipper introdooce ’is new cook-” 

“Well, if they seems surprised at all, you can tell 
’em what a superior young man I am really, and ’ow 
I’m an old friend of yours, and so on. It’s the only 
way I can do anything—I must see ’em personal. Sup¬ 
pose I was to start making inquiries off the neighbours, 
for instance. The fat would soon be in the fire then, 
wouldn’t it ?” 

“Matter of fact,” confessed the skipper, with reserve, 
“there ’as been more gossip about already than I care 
for.” 

“Let me see ’em and keep my eyes open and ask a 
question ’ere and there, most innocent, and I’ll find 
out the truth quick enough,” boasted Mr. Dobb. “It 
won’t be too late to call on ’em to-night, will it ? Just 
about right, I should think; with luck, we ought to 
catch ’em just at supper-time. You wait ’ere, and I’ll 
run back and tidy myself a bit.” 

“All right. I should think that’s the best thing that 
can be done,” said Captain Gooster, ambiguously. 

Mr. Dobb took a swift departure to the “Jane 



“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


13 


J&ladys,” finding an empty fo’c’sle, and tlms being able 
to garb himself for ceremony without loss of time in 
answering questions. Returning to the “Jolly Sailors/’ 
his improved appearance won a grunt of approval from 
Captain Gooster, and then, together, the two men re¬ 
paired to their objective in Fore Street. 

They found Mrs. Goffley and her daughter amid the 
ordered confusion of the little second-hand shop. Cap¬ 
tain Gooster made Horace known to the ladies as an 
old acquaintance unexpectedly encountered in the town. 
Introductions thus achieved, the gentlemen were hos¬ 
pitably conducted to partake of supper amid the more 
congenial surroundings of the back parlour. 

Mr. Dobb claimed but little prominence in the talk, 
and, indeed, seemed bent on eliminating himself as far 
as possible from the interest of his hostesses, and this 
was rendered the more easy for him by the fact that 
both ladies appeared to concentrate their attentions on 
the skipper of the “Alert.” Mr. Dobb, however, was 
vigilant towards all that was going forward, and when 
once or twice the ladies bickered, he plainly submitted 
every word of their spirited utterance to the closest 
analysis. 

And when at length they left the house, Horace had 
arrived at certain deductions, which he hastened to lay 
before Captain Gooster. 

“It’s the old gal what’s got the money,” he stated. 
“She done the carving, for one thing. And, for another, 
it was ’er that put the coal on the fire. Besides, I 
ask you, ain’t it only reason that ’er late ’usband would 
’ave left ’er everything, knowing from the look of ’er 
that she couldn’t ever really ’ope to get married again ? 
No, I het that rumour you ’eard was right—’e’s left 
’is money to ’is wife, with instructions to look after ’er 


14 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


daughter. P’r’aps she’s to ’ave it after the old gal’s 
popped off,” propounded Horace, delicately. 

“Ah, but that’s just what I’m frightened of,” said 
Captain Gooster. “Suppose I married the old lady, 
and one day she pegs out and the daughter gets the 
lot ? A nice return that ’ud be to me for all my kind¬ 
ness, wouldn’t it ?” 

“But there’s nothing to prevent the old lady ’anding 
over the money to ’er second ’usband while she’s alive, 
to speckylate with, is there? And once it’s in your 
name-” 

“ ’Grace, if I could only think ’alf as clear as you,” 
remarked Captain Gooster, “I’d be driving my own 
carriage and pair by now!” 

He halted, gazed back at the Goffley abode, and 
patently came to decision. 

“Wait ’ere for me,” he directed. “I’m goisg to strike 
while the iron is hot. I’m going to propose to the old 
geezer now and get it over!” 

He traced his way to the shop, knocked, and was 
admitted. Scarce five minutes had elapsed ere he was 
again at Horace’s side. Captain Gooster’s reply, in 
response to an interested question, took the form of a 
fierce growl of wrath. 

“What, she wouldn’t ’ave you?” asked Horace, in 
surprise. 

“Oh, yes, she ’ad me right enough!” exclaimed Cap¬ 
tain Gooster, with extreme bitterness. “Oh, she’s ’ad 
me proper! And you’ll get a job with me on the ‘ Alert,’ 
I don’t think! Clever ? Ha! Smart ? Ha, ha! 
Sharp ? Oh, ha, ha, ha! Why, I believe your brains 
must be more like a wool mat than anything else!” 

“But if she’s accepted you-” 

“Accepted me?” bellowed Captain Gooster, passion- 




“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


15 


ately. “She jumped at me! Put ’er arms round my 
neck and made such a noise a-kissing of me that ’er 
daughter come ’urrying in from the kitchen at it! And 
Ann said it was ridiculous, and Mrs. Goffley said it was 
love, and Ann crinkled ’er nose sarcastic, and told ’er 
mother that I was simply marrying ’er for ’er money, 
as any one could see.” 

“There you are!” cried Mr. Dohb. “You picked the 
right one, anyway.” 

“Wait a hit!” urged Captain Gooster. “Of course, 
I says at once that I’m pained and ’urt by such a sug¬ 
gestion, and that of course I’m only marrying Mrs. 
Goffley for love. ‘Sure?’ she asks, smiling at me in 
a way what would ’ave been tantalizing in a young gal. 
‘Positive certain!’ says I. ‘Money,’ I says. ‘What’s 
money to me? I’ve got plenty of my own!’ ‘There 
you are!’ she says to Ann. ‘lust as well though, ain’t 
it?’ says Ann, with a sniff. ‘Because, you know, ma, 
you ain’t got any money, ’ave you? It all belongs to 
me, don’t it ?’ ” 

Mr. Dobb, finding verbal comment inadequate, took 
off his cap and shook his head helplessly. 

“Well, when I ’eard that,” narrated Captain Gooster, 
“the room sort of went round and round for a hit, and 
the next thing I knew was that I was saying I must 
not keep you waiting here any longer. And, with that, 
I stumbled over the mat and left the place. And as 
for you -” 

“ ’Alf a minute, sir,” requested Mr. Dobb. “I can 
see you don’t understand diplomaticism. You ’ave to 
run a few risks to start with, and then you sets ’em 
right afterwards, when you’ve got what you wants— 
that’s diplomaticism.” 

“If you was to get what you really wants-” 




16 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“After all, sir, it’s only what you asked me to do,” 
contended Horace. “ ‘ ’Elp me to find out ’which one 
of ’em ’as got the money,’ ” says you to me, “ ‘and 
I’ll give you a job on the “Alert.” ’ Well, I ’ave ’elped 
you to find out. You know now that it’s the daughter 
what’s got it!” 

“Yes, and I’ve been and proposed to the mother!” 
groaned Captain Gooster. 

“Well, you’ve only got to change over,” suggested 
Horace. 

“Step hack and say it was really Ann I meant to 
ask, I suppose?” girded Captain Gooster. “Just as if 
the daughter would ’ave anything to do with me now! 
Just as if the old ’un would let me off ’er ’ooks now, 
the artful, deceiving old cat!” 

“You could work up a quarrel with ’er,” prompted 
Mr. Dobb. 

“She ain’t the sort to quarrel till after we’re mar¬ 
ried,” ruefully answered the skipper of the “Alert.” 
“After that, it’ll be a different story, I bet!” 

Mr. Dobb, coming to a standstill, lightly tickled the 
nape of his neck for some minutes. 

“I’ve got it!” he pronounced, brightly. “Call and 
see ’er to-morrow, and speak to ’er as man to man. 
Tell ’er you made a mistake, and it ain’t love but only 
respect for ’er old age!” 

“And she’ll just answer me back snappy that she 
ain’t making a mistake, any way,” prophesied Captain 
Gooster. “No, there ain’t no way out, that I can see, 
short of suicide. And,” he added, lapsing into extra¬ 
ordinary gloom, “I don’t know that I wouldn’t prefer 
that to that old gal with no money be’ind ’er! And 
as for you and a berth on the ‘Alert’,” he ended, sav- 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


17 


agely, “you just let me catch you on board ’er for a 
single moment, even on a visit!” 

He swung round and strode off, totally disregarding 
the expostulatory noises of his companion. Mr. Dobb, 
thus deserted, sauntered along in restive dejection, but 
suddenly a greater decisiveness came into his bearing, 
and soon he was cantering along in eager pursuit of 
the master of the “Alert.” 

“Now—now—now I ’ave got it, sir!” he puffed, 
catching up with Captain Gooster. “Come to me in 
a flash, it did! You must take me along to see the 
Goffleys again to-morrow night.” 

Captain Gooster violently mentioned a mutual meet¬ 
ing, which involved considerable travel, as having pri¬ 
ority over Mr. Dobb’s suggestion. 

“You must keep on taking me there,” insisted Hor¬ 
ace, undaunted. 

“Just to make me laugh,” observed Captain Gooster, 
grimly, “tell me what the idea is.” 

“Why, Fll sink my feelings, and Til carry on a bit 
with the old gal!” 

“Carry on with-” gasped the “Alert’s” skipper. 

“Make goo-goo eyes at ’er, flirt with ’er, play slap- 
? ands with ’er,” amplified Mr. Dobb. “And if you 

don’t give me a job on the ‘Alert’ after that - Why, 

chaps ’as got medals for less than that! Far less!” 

“Give you a job on the 6 Alert’ for playing slap-’ands 
with my missis-to-be ?” queried Captain Gooster, in be¬ 
wilderment. 

“Yes; and one day you catches us at it,” sketched 
Mr. Dobbs, knowingly. “And you accuses us of flirt¬ 
ing, and you ’as a tremendous row with ’er, and, though 
it breaks your ’eart, you casts ’er off! And there you 




18 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


are—free! And yon can bet that quarrelling with her 
nia will give you a good send-off to begin courting Ann 
with. You can see that she’s that sort.” 

“Yes; and what ’appens to you?” 

“Oh, I get that job on the ‘Alert’,” answered Horace, 
simply. “You can trust me to protect myself safe 
enough where women are concerned.” 

Captain Gooster, weighing the pros and cons, could 
detect no flaw in the scheme. Next afternoon, by ap¬ 
pointment, he met Mr. Dobb at the corner of Fore 
Street, and together they repaired to the little second¬ 
hand shop. Enthusiastically did Mrs. Goffley bid them 
enter and stay to tea, an invitation which was signalized, 
rather than seconded, by a prolonged sniff from the 
younger lady. 

Mr. Dobb, now reversing his behaviour of the previous 
evening, exhibited himself in the light of a sparkling 
blade. Riddles galore did he propound to enliven the 
proceedings, and many were the diverting anecdotes he 
furnished forth, though, indeed, in some of these he 
checked himself, finishing them a trifle lamely with 
endings which had the flavour of improvisation about 
them. 

His geniality, however, went far towards neutralizing 
the acrimony of Miss Goffley, and by the time adieux 
were said Captain Gooster was well satisfied with his 
confederate. 

“I reckon you’ve made a fine start, ’Orace,” he said, 
as they strolled together down Fore Street. “And to¬ 
morrow you must talk more particularly to the old 
gal, so as to give me a chance to try to make up a bit 
of the leeway with Ann.” 

Such heed did Mr. Dobb give to this instruction that 



“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


19 


when, on the following evening, they called at the little 
shop, he devoted his conversation almost exclusively to 
the widow. 

“Splendid!” was his patron’s verdict, when they left. 
“I see she was a bit impatient at first, hut before long 
she was listening to every word you said. Why, she 
never even noticed that I was talking quite a lot to 

Ann.” 

“Ah, and she was answering you, what’s more! I 
see you! What did you say to ’er ?” asked Mr. Dobb, 
curiously. 

“Oh, I was just sort of generally mysterious and 
wistful and ’eart-’eavy, like you advised,” replied Cap¬ 
tain Gooster. “And I got ’er to confess that there was 
a time when she ’oped-” 

“Then she’s as good as yours!” joyfully declared 
Horace. “And the berth on the ‘Alert’ is as good as 
mine!” 

It was during the following evening that there oc¬ 
curred a startling development in the engagement of 
Captain Gooster to Mrs. Goffley. Horace and that lady 
had been chatting together gaily, and Miss Goffley was 
permitting the captain to turn over her music at the 
piano for her, when suddenly the skipper of the “Alert” 
sprang to the centre of the room and crashed both his 
fists down upon the table. 

Mrs. Goffley, with an agitated squeal, tugged her hand 
away from Mr. Dobb’s grasp. 

“Too late, ma’am, too late!” thundered Captain 
Gooster. 

“I—he—we—lie was only telling me my fortune!” 
protested Mrs. Goffley, guiltily. 

“I see ’im telling it,” retorted the skipper, grimly. 




20 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Do you think I ain’t got any eyes ? Carrying-on! 
Flirting! That’s what you was up to! Don’t trouble 
to make up lies about it.” 

“Just because I was making myself pleasant to your 
friend,” began Mrs. Gofflev, with spirit. 

“You go on making yourself pleasant to ’im!” rec¬ 
ommended Captain Gooster. “I’m done with you!” 

“And I must say, ma, I’m not surprised, either,” 
mentioned Miss Goffley, with a toss of her head. 

“I’ve got witnesses to prove you was carrying-on,” 
said the captain. “I’ve got the law on my side, and 
that’s all I need. I’m finished with you, ma’am, and 
I wish you a very good evening. Oh, a very good even¬ 
ing, indeed, ma’am!” 

Aloofly averting his gaze from the agitated dame, he 
hurried from the house as speedily as possible. Horace, 
half an hour later, came to him in the bar-parlour of 
the “Jolly Sailors.” 

“There was a proper bust-up after you’d gone,” Mr. 
Dobb said, with relish. “But, after they’d both ’ad 
’isterieks, things was a bit quieter.” 

“And Mrs. Goffley ?” 

“She said it was good riddance to bad rubbish! 
Said so over and over again. And now for business 
after pleasure. When do I start on the ‘Alert’ ?” 

“Well, we sails at the end of the week, as you know, 
on the same day as the ‘Jane Gladys.’ You can come 
then, if all goes well.” 

“Ah, I knew I shouldn’t go begging for long!” said 
Horace, with considerable pride. “I knew I shouldn’t 
be long finding something to suit me.” 

“I shall ’ave to get the Goffley business settled first, 
though,” hedged Captain Gooster. “I’ve got to bring 
Ann up to the mark yet, don’t forget. Not that I 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


21 


*ave any fears, though. Why, she’s as good as said 
she’d-” 

“But, my word, what a life them two women will 
be leading each other for the next few weeks!” ex¬ 
claimed Horace, with a shudder. 

“I shall get Ann to keep quiet about our engagement 
when we are engaged. And when we get married it’ll 
be by special licence, unbeknown to ’er ma. I can 
afford it, if Ann’s got the money coming to ’er.” 

“You take my advice, sir,” urged Horace, earnestly, 
“and rush your wedding through as quick as ever you 
can. Don’t you run any risks, for the old gal will be 
doing all in ’er power to p’ison the young gal’s mind 
against you. There’s many a slip between the bottle 
and the glass, don’t forget.” 

“I’d get it settled to-morrow, if I could.” 

“Well, luckily, I’m still friends there, don’t forget. 
I’m waiting to quarrel with the old gal when it’s more 
convenient. At present, she just sits looking loving 
and ’opeful at me. And I’ll call round there to-morrow 
morning, first thing, and get Ann to meet you some¬ 
where, and you must persuade ’er as ’ard as you can. 
Pack all the love you’d make in a ordinary engagement 
into three days, an’ get ’er to marry you before you 
sails. That’s the way to do things, if you wants to 
be sure of ’er. And if you wants any odd notes or 
messages taken to ’er, I’ll see to ’em for you.” 

“You don’t suppose I wants to go near the ’ouse, do 
you?” asked Captain Gooster, with a shiver. 

And thus three more days passed, while the affairs 
of the “Alert” were shamelessly subjugated to the claims 
of Cupid. On board the “Jane Gladys” Horace was 
watched vigilantly by his shipmates, and he maddened 
them with constant veiled allusions to a most lucrative 



22 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


and superior berth which his talents and charms were 
securing for him. Already had he handed in his pro¬ 
visional resignation to Captain Peter Dutt, already was 
he bearing himself as a gentleman of social standing 
far above that of his present companions. 

Came the afternoon prior to the day which was to 
witness the departure both of the “Alert” and the “Jane 
Gladys” from Shorehaven. 

Captain Simon Gooster, passing up Fore Street, had 
on his arm a lady whose countenance exhibited pride 
and triumph. For a climax had been achieved at the 
registrar’s office, and Miss Ann Goffley was now Miss 
Ann Goffley no longer, but was, for better or for worse, 
Mrs. Simon Gooster. 

“There’s no need to be flustered,” said the bride¬ 
groom to the bride, when they reached the little shop. 
“We’ve got to break the news to ’er sooner or later, 
and ’Orace ’as promised to be on ’and to give us a 
’elping word ’ere and there. She can’t let ofl all the 
steam she’d like to—not in front of ’im.” 

“I shall be flustered if I like!” insisted Mrs. Gooster. 
“Don’t you start ordering me about! If I ain’t allowed 
to be flustered on my wedding-day, I should like to 
know when I am allowed to be.” 

Captain Gooster, after a glance of dawning uneasi¬ 
ness at his bride, led the way through the shop. The 
new Mrs. Gooster’s mother was unsuspectingly laying 
the table for tea, and Mr. Dobb, to the captain’s relief, 
was seated in the arm-chair. 

“We’ve done it!” announced Captain Gooster. 

“I’m Mrs. Gooster now,” said the younger lady. 

“Lor’!” exclaimed Mrs. Goffley. She turned to Hor¬ 
ace and giggled coyly. “Shall we tell ’em ?” she asked. 

“Not much to tell,” returned Mr. Dobb, airily. 



“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


23 


“Only that you and me was married, too, this morning, 
by special licence!” 

“Lor’!” cried the skipper’s wife, in her turn. 

“Quite private,” explained Horace, briefly. “She 
even paid for the licence, so as to get it over quick. 
I fancy she must ’ave guessed what you and—and Ann 
was up to.” 

“Oh, well, there’s no accounting for tastes!” said the 
skipper of the “Alert.” “Anyway, there can’t be any 
cause for ill-feeling between any of us now, can there ? 
But, really, I don’t quite see, ’Orace, ’ow you come 

to-” 

“So you two got married on the quiet, too, did you ?” 
interrupted Mrs. Dobb, with a curious glint in her eyes. 
“Well, p’r’aps you was wise. Because, of course, you 
must ’ave known that I’d never ’ave given my consent, 
after the way you treated me, Cap’n Gooster ?” 

“Yes, I knew that well enough,” agreed the skipper. 

“You married Ann for her money, of course,” stated 
the elder lady, dogmatically. 

“Nothing of the sort!” stoutly maintained Captain 
(rooster. “Love—nothing but love! It was because 
I’d found out that it was ’er I really loved all the 
time that I broke it off with you. If Ann ’adn’t got 
a single penny coming to ’er-” 

“And she ’asn’t!” said Mrs. Dobb, with emphasis. 

“Trying to frighten me ?” suggested the smiling cap¬ 
tain. “Why, you admitted to me yourself that it was 
’er that ’ad all the money!” 

“So she ’ad,” returned Mrs. Gooster’s mother— 
"thenr 

“What do you mean—then ?” asked the captain, 
thickly. 

“Why, it was all to be ’ers,” explained the new Mrs. 





24 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Dobb, “unless she married without my consent. My 
’usband arranged it like that to protect ’er from for¬ 
tune ’unters, and very lucky ’e did, too! You needn’t 
shake your ’ead! It’s all quite true. ’Ere’s a copy 
of my ’usband’s will. I showed it to Dobb ’ere when 
’e was trying to console me that evening after you’d 
left—you know, when you threw me over!” 

“You—you knew when you advised me to-” 

roared the skipper, wheeling on Mr. Dobb. 

“I did,” shamelessly admitted Mr. Dobb. “Part of 
it I worked out, and part of it worked itself out for 
me! You see, I—I ’appened to fall genuine in love with 
my new wife ’ere and-” 

“You needn’t trouble to tell lies about it!” shouted 
the skipper. 

“And don’t you roar at my ’usband like that, 
neither!” ordered the elder lady. “And I may as well 
tell you that I’d ’ave taken ’im if I ’ated ’im—I’d 
’ave taken the first man what come along! Anything 
to let you see you wasn’t the only chance I’d got! 
And-” 

“Well, but what becomes of the money that should 
’ave been ’ers—the money you’ve diddled me out of?” 
cried the captain. 

“Why,” said Horace, softly, “it just stays with us!” 

“And you knew this when you advised me to get 
married on the quiet to Ann, yonder?” 

“Certingly,” said the unabashed Horace. “Didn’t 
we both agree that ‘Strictly Business!’ was a jolly good 
motter ?” 

“And you,” went on the skipper, wheeling on his 
bride—“you didn’t tell me nothing, for fear of losing 
me ?” 





“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 25 

“And so I should have,” she said. “And don’t you 
stare at me like that, neither! If you think that I’m 
the kind of wife that can be bullied, you’re making 
a big mistake! And now I’ll get my portmanteau, and 
you can take me down to your cabin on the ‘Alert.’ 
You don’t think I’m going to stay on in the house with 
these people, do you?” 

“Still, any time you’re passing,” said the cook, “I’ll 
be pleased to welcome my stepdaughter and my son- 
in-law. I don’t bear no ill-will, and I shouldn’t like 
to think that others would.” 

“Well, you’ve lost your berth on the ‘Alert,’ any 
way,” said Captain Gooster, inadequately. “You 
needn’t think I’d ’ave you now, because I shouldn’t!” 

“I’m afraid I couldn’t accept it, in any case,” said 
Mr. Horace Dobb. “ ’Oo’s to look after the shop ? 
You said yourself that it needed a man, and I’ve pro¬ 
vided myself for it. And you know ’ow useful I can 
make myself, don’t you ?” 

That evening, when Messrs. Lock and Tridge and 
Clark, hearing something of what had transpired, 
trooped down to Fore Street to find Horace, they dis¬ 
covered him already engaged in bringing the stock and 
fixtures into line with his own ideas on such matters. 

Very readily he told them the tale of his marriage, 
and, further, pointed out that the future might hold 
many occasions when his shipmates of the “Jane 
Gladys” might find it profitable to link their talents 
temporarily to the fortunes of the little second-hand 
shop. 

But when Mr. Tridge remarked that the “Jane 
Gladys” was sailing early on the morrow, and that 


26 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


therefore a little loan would be both acceptable and 
timely to her crew, Mr. Horace Dobb did not reply 
in words. 

Instead, he stood erect and pointed over his shoulder, 
with a jerk of his thumb, at a notice which he had 
been at some pains to illuminate on a panel of wood, 
and which now hung conspicuously on the wall of the 
little shop. 

Simultaneously, Messrs. Lock, Tridge, and Clark 
turned to regard the board. It bore the simple legend, 
“Strictly Business ” 


EPISODE II 


A WATCHING BRIEF 


M R. PETER LOCK, in the bowels of the “Jane 
Gladys,” bad attired bimself for outdoor prom¬ 
enade with a meticulous attention to detail which had 
spurned Mr. Joseph Tridge to scornful mention of 
beauty-doctors and mashers and tailors’ dummies. Mr. 
Lock, in no wise offended by these oblique compliments 
to his appearance, had finally lingered for a full half¬ 
minute before the cracked little mirror in fastidious 
self-examination, and then had gone ashore for the ex¬ 
press purpose of keeping an appointment with a friend. 

Five minutes later he reappeared. He explained 
that a complication had arisen, for his friend had 
brought a friend with her to the trysting-place, so that 
another gentleman was now indispensable to secure bal¬ 
ance to the party. As the result of eloquent appeals 
and lavish promises, Mr. Tridge was reluctantly im¬ 
pressed into the role of temporary friend to the friend’s 
friend. 

Matters thus adjusted, Messrs. Tridge and Lock de¬ 
parted, leaving the fo’c’sle of the “Jane Gladys” empty 
but for the brooding figure of the stout and aged Mr. 
Samuel Clark. 

For a long while Mr. Clark sat on the edge of his 
bunk, wrapped in doleful reverie, and motionless save 
when, from time to time, a deep sigh agitated his vast 
shoulders. At last, however, a well-remembered whistle 

27 


28 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


sounded from the quay, and instantly roused Mr. Clark 
from his gloomy meditations. 

“’Orace!” he exclaimed, sitting erect, and his eyes 
began to gleam with a dawning hopefulness. 

A few minutes later Mr. Horace Dobb descended into 
that fo’c’sle wherein aforetime he had been so promi¬ 
nent a dweller, though now it needed strong imagina¬ 
tion to believe that, less than three weeks ago, he had 
served the “Jane Gladys” in such a menial capacity 
as cook. For Mr. Dobb was wearing a horseshoe pin 
and a massive watch-chain, and a soft hat of adven¬ 
turous aspect. He carried a bloated umbrella which had 
somehow acquired a quality of being a mace-like symbol 
of authority. And, also, Mr. Dobb was smoking a 
cigar. 

In short, he presented a visible proof that marriage 
need not invariably be a failure, provided that one 
selects as bride a manageable widow with a snug little 
business of her own. 

“Doing the Cinderella hact all by yourself, are you ?” 
observed Mr. Dobb. “It couldn’t be better. I’ve 
brought some one on purpose to see you.” 

“I could trot across to the Molly Sailors’ and 

get-” began Mr. Clark. “At least,” he amended, 

ingenuously, “if I ’ad any money I could.” 

“Not necessary,” stated Mr. Dobb. “ ’E’s a tee¬ 
totaller.” 

“A teetotaller ?” echoed Mr. Clark, suspiciously. 
“ ’Ere, what’s the game—bringing a teetotaller to see 
me? ’Strewth, ’Orace!” he cried, in sudden alarm. 
“You ain’t going to tell me that being well-off ’as gone 
to your ’ead and given you silly ideas, are you ? You 
ain’t going to tell me that you’ve turned teetotaller, 
too, and the pair of you ’ave come down to try and 



A WATCHING BRIEF 


29 


convert me ? I won’t ’ave it!” he declared, wrath- 
fully. “I ain’t going to ’ave no one trying to meddle 
about with my constitootion, never mind ’ow old a friend 
’e is!” 

“And don’t you start thinking evil of me!” returned 
Mr. Dobb, with spirit. “I won’t ’ave it, neither!” 

“Well,” protested Mr. Clark, significantly, u you 
a-going about with teetotallers!” 

“Well, p’r’aps it do look fishy,” conceded Mr. 
Dobb. “But you oughter know me better than that! 
You know me motter, Sam, don’t you ? ‘Strictly 
Business!’ Well, my friendship with ’im is strictly 
business. You don’t suppose I could ever ’ave a friendly 
friendship with a teetotaller, do you ?” 

“I should ’ope not, indeed!” answered Mr. Clark, 
severely. 

“I met ’im in the way of business, and I’ve got to 
know ’im pretty well,” continued Mr. Dobb. “And 
now there’s something he wants done, and I thought 
of you for the job at once.” 

“Much obliged to you,” said Mr. Clark, stiffly, “but 
I ain’t sure that I wants to do jobs for teetotallers.” 

“Don’t you be a silly old idjit, Sam,” tolerantly 
recommended Mr. Dobb. “You don’t want to go 
cutting off your nose to spite your face—particularly 
with the sort of face you've got! I was only speaking 
figgerative,” he hastened to add, at Mr. Clark’s indig¬ 
nant stare. “Ain’t the old Mane Gladys’ to be sold soon, 
and won’t you be out of a job then ?” 

“I was thinking about that when you come down 
’ere,” admitted Mr. Clark, sorrowfully. 

“Very well, then,” argued Mr. Dobb, “you want to 
do the best you can for yourself. You take on this 
’ere job I’ve mentioned, and you’ll ’ave a nice easy 



30 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS’* 


life ashore for the next week or two, and all the time 
you can he looking round for a proper job. And you’re 
far more likely to find one by being on the spot than by 
rushing round frantic after you’re paid off, ain’t you ?” 

“Of course I am,” agreed Mr. Clark. “And I know 
the skipper’ll let me go any time I want to. ’E said so, 
only the night before last, when me and Peter and Joe 
give ’im a parting present for three-and-nine.” 

“There you are!” cried Mr. Dobb. “You take on 
this job with the chap I’ve brought—Poskett, ’is 
name is. And while you’re doing it, me and you will 
keep our eyes skinned to find you a permanent job in the 
town.” 

“I take it as very kind of you, ’Orace,” said Mr. 
Clark. 

“Then you takes it wrong,” returned Mr. Dobb. 
“I’m doing it for business—strictly for business. You 
and me and them others ’ave worked a few good plans 
in the past, and I can see that my little second-’and 
shop in Pore Street gives us a chance to work a lot more, 
if we was all close together. I mean to get you and 
Peter Lock and Joe Tridge all settled ’ere near me in 
Shore’aven. Then we’ll show ’em!” he prophesied, 
with satisfaction. 

“All four of us ’atching up ideas together again? 
Oh, blessed wision! Oh, ’appy prospect!” murmured 
Mr. Clark, moved to rhapsody. “Bring on your tee¬ 
totallers !” he invited. “With that before me, I’m 
ready for anything!” 

“I’ll call ’im, and ’e’ll tell you all about it,” said Mr. 
Dobb, and, going on deck, he soon returned to the 
fo’c’sle in convoy of a short, pallid gentleman, whose 
very side-whiskers seemed trimmed into semblance of 
stern rectitude. 


A WATCHING BRIEF 


31 


Horace introduced Mr. Poskett to Mr. Clark and the 
trio sat down at the table. After Mr. Poskett had 
refused the offer of a cup of cold water, considerately 
suggested by Mr. Clark, the object of the visit was at 
once approached. 

“It’s like this, Mr. Clark,” stated the visitor, 
“children is very difficult things to manage properly 
these days, I find.” 

“Thrash ’em!” advised Mr. Clark, assuming an air 
of efficiency in all matters. “And not only thrash ’em, 
but keep on thrashing ’em! That’s the only way to 
manage children, it seems to me, if you wants a quiet 
life.” 

“Yes, hut what about it when the child is a girl of 
twenty ?” demurred Mr. Poskett. 

“Stop ’er pocket-money!” promptly advised Mr. 

Clark. 

“Yes; but supposing she earns her own pocket- 
money?” propounded Mr. Poskett. 

Mr. Clark, emitting a baffled grunt, passed to silent 
examination of the problem. Mr. Horace Dobb, 
settling himself deep in his seat, tilted back his head 
and puffed at his cigar, as one who postponed inter¬ 
vention till the affair was more clearly established. 

“You—you might lock up ’er bonnets,” hazarded 
Mr. Clark at last, but with no great confidence. 

“But she ’as to go to her employment behind the 
counter at Messrs Wicklett & Sharp’s shop in the 
High Street,” objected Mr. Poskett. “She comes 
’ome for dinner, and goes back again to the shop in 
the afternoon.” 

There was another pause, and then Mr. Clark regret¬ 
fully admitted that it seemed to him something was 
wrong somewhere, but he could not quite tell where it 


32 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS" 


was. He respectfully intimated that he might under¬ 
stand better were Mr. Poskett to be more explicit in 
information. 

“My niece,” said Mr. Poskett, complying. “She’s 
been and got herself engaged!” 

“Tut-tut!” murmured Mr. Clark, politely shocked. 

“She has! Without my permission! She never 
even asked me!” complained Mr. Poskett. “Not that 
I should have given it, mark you, if she had asked! 
What right has she to go and get herself engaged when 
she is needed at home ?” 

“Ah, what right, indeed?” asked Mr. Clark, with 
indignation. 

“Where’s ’er gratitude to me and ’er loving aunt, 
who have brought ’er up since she was eleven ?” 
demanded Mr. Poskett. “Is it not ’er duty to tarry 
with us while we ’ave need of ’er ? We cannot spare ’er, 
for she is too useful. I grant that she ’as done ’er fair 
share of work in the past, but that ain’t any reason 
why she should seek to avoid it in the future, is it ?” 

“Certainly not!” stated Mr. Clark. 

“She’s got a earthly ’ome where she’s well looked after 
and kept up to the mark,” declared Mr. Poskett, his 
voice taking a high-pitched monotone. “Do we not 
know ’oo it is that lays in wait to find work for idle 
’ands? Work and plenty of it is the only right way to 
bring up a young female. Idleness of body leads to 
idleness of thought, my friends, and-” 

Mr. Dobb emitted a cough with a long, droning tail 
to it, and this served its purpose in restoring Mr. 
Poskett to more natural speech. 

“Any way,” he said, “when Nancy ain’t at the shop, 
we does our best to keep ’er time properly hemployed 
for ’er. As I say, it’s the only right way to bring young 



A WATCHING BRIEF 


33 


females lip, and Nancy will admit one day, when me 
and my wife ’ave passed away to our reward, that she 
was very well brought up indeed! Tidy up the ’ouse, 
and off to the shop; dinner, wash-up, back to the shop 
again; ’ome again, bit more tidying up, and then bed,” 
he sketched. “Now, ain’t that a model life for a young 
female % What more can a right-minded girl want ?” 

“Ah, what, indeed ?” sighed Mr. Clark. 

“But is she content ?” asked Mr. Poskett, sadly. 
“Oh, dear, no! She knows that all flesh is grass, and 
yet she talks about wanting amusements and recreation! 
And her nearly twenty! And now and then she gets 
quite out of control, and indulges in all manner of 
worldly vanities. Only last week she went to a whist- 
drive! When she come back, I wrestled with the evil 
spirit within ’er for a full hour, trying to get ’er to say 
she repented.” 

“And did she ?” queried Mr. Clark. 

“She did not, alas! She was that ’ardened that 
she only said the enjoyment was worth a bit of suffering 
for afterwards! And now she’s gone and got ’erself 
engaged!” 

“ ’Oo to ?” asked Mr. Clark. 

“That’s just it,” complained Mr. Poskett. “That’s 
what we wants to know! We don’t know ’oo ’e is, 
and she won’t tell us; and she’s that deceitful we can’t 
find out! I spent ’alf an hour, only yesterday, question¬ 
ing and ex’orting ’er, and she had not even the grace 
to cry! If it wasn’t for all the money we’ve spent in 
bringing ’er up, and for ’er being so useful in the ’ome, 
I’d ’ave nothing more to do with ’er! I believe 
she would like things to come to such a sorry pass, too !” 

“And I’d not blame ’er-” began Mr. Clark, 



34 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


absently. “I mean,” be began again, more carefully, 
“and I shouldn’t blame you, neither.” 

“I must do my duty,” said Mr. Poskett, unctuously. 
“ ’Er place is with me and ’er aunt, and I must keep 
’er there!” 

“And you ain’t got the least idea ’oo the young fellow 
is ?” asked Mr. Clark. 

“Not the least! She won’t bring ’im to the ’ome. 
She knows too much for that, because I’d soon send ’im 
about ’is business, ’ooever ’e is! She won’t even tell 
us ’is name! All she says is that he don’t hold with 
the same views as us about anything, and that there’d 
only be trouble if we met. And so there would! And 
she says she prefers things to go on as they are for a 
little longer, till they’re quite sure they really 
wants to marry each other. She says ’is very way of 
earning a living would ’orrify me, so don’t that just 
show you ? Can you wonder I’m ’eart-broken ?” 

“If I was you,” said Mr. Clark, resolutely, “I 
wouldn’t rest till I’d found out ’oo ’e is! I wouldn’t 
be beat by a gal!” 

“Ah, now you’re coming to it, Sam!” struck in Mr. 
Dobb. “That’s something of the idea I’ve talked over 
with Poskett ’ere. What ’e wants is a kind of watch¬ 
dog to that niece of ’is; some one ’oo’ll follow ’er every¬ 
where, and find out ’oo it is that’s making up to ’er. 
Then Poskett will know ’ow to act. But, you see, ’im 
being a big man in the prayers-and-penitence line round 
’ere, it ’ud look so bad for ’im to go loafing round the 
streets all day playing private detective. And ’is 
missis is too delikit, she says.” 

“As a local preacher,” said Mr. Poskett, “I ’ave many 
hengagements, and between them and business my time 
is fully occupied.” 


A WATCHING BRIEF 


3 5 


“In short,” remarked Mr. Dobb, “ ’e’s ready to 
pay y°u to follow ’is niece about everywhere in ’er spare 
time, so as you can find out ’oo’s the young man. And 
when you ’ave found out—which will take you some 
days, I expect, the pair of ’em being very artful to all 
accounts—you must go straight to Poskett and tell 
’im. That’s all ’e wants you to do, and ’e’ll pay you 
well for it. But you’ll ’ave to give every minute of your 
time to it, otherwise ’e wouldn’t go to the trouble and 
expense of engaging some one special for the job—would 
you, Poskett ?” 

“That is so,” agreed Mr. Poskett. “Well, what do 
you say, Mr. Clark? Will you help to restore a girl 
to the proper henjoyment of ’er ’ome life?” 

“When you puts it like that,” said Mr. Clark, slowly, 

“it don’t sound so- I must say, though, it ain’t 

exactly the sort of job-” 

He broke off to shake his head in a troubled, dissatis¬ 
fied way. In so doing, he caught a glimpse of Mr. 
Dobb’s face, and was arrested by the slight but emphatic 
nod which Mr. Dobb accorded him. 

“All right!” said Mr. Clark, at once obeying the 
habit of years and yielding initiative to the ex-cook. 
“I’ll do it!” 

Things progressed swiftly after that decision, and 
outstanding details were settled all the sooner because 
Mr. Dobb had somehow taken over control of the nego¬ 
tiations. Ten minutes later the trio had left the “Jane 
Gladys” and Mr. Dobb was returning to his emporium, 
while Mr. Clark was taken by Mr. Poskett to his abode, 
there to be introduced to wife and niece, so that general 
acquaintanceship with the family might prove a weapon 
in Mr. Clark’s hand, if necessary. 

Reluctance was plainly discernible in Mr. Clark’s 




36 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


demeanour as lie entered Mr. Poskett 7 s domicile, and, 
taken into the front room, he glanced about him with 
something of guilt. Relief at discovering the apartment 
to be void of feminine presence was evidenced by an 
unconscious exclamation of pious gratitude. 

“Ah, 7 ere she comes ! 77 announced Mr. Poskett. 

* “Wait a bit ! 77 begged Mr. Clark. “I been think- 

• 

mg- 

He clutched at his host’s arm in some trepidation as 
the door opened and an elderly female of unaffectionate 
aspect entered. 

“This , 77 said Mr. Poskett, “is my wife , 77 and explained 
the reason of Mr. Clark’s presence to that lady, while 
the seaman himself, mopping his forehead with his 
handkerchief, smiled unconvincingly, and vaguely re¬ 
marked that girls would be girls, and that there was 
no need to be too worried about it. 

Before Mrs. Poskett could reply to these remarks, 
the latch of the front door clicked. 

“Ah, ’ere’s Nancy at last , 77 observed Mr. Poskett. 

“And—and that reminds me, I—I forgot some¬ 
thing ! 77 stammered Mr. Clark. “Appointment! 
Made a week ago! I must be going—now—at once ! 77 

“You sit down ! 77 firmly ordered Mr. Poskett. 
“You 7 ave set your 7 and to the plough, and you must 
not look back. Besides, 7 ow could you have made an 
appointment a week ago? You were at sea then, 
weren’t you ? 77 

“Why, I wrote a letter, and—and- 77 

“But you could not post it at sea . 77 

“I put it in a bottle and threw it overboard , 77 gulped 
Mr. Clark, edging nearer the door. “See you some 
other time. I- 77 

He ceased abruptly at sight of the girl who had 





A WATCHING BRIEF 


37 


entered the room and was now standing by the door, a 
little surprised at this unusual incidence of a visitor. 

“This is Mr. Samuel Clark, Nancy,” said Mr. 
Poskett, seizing the opportunity. “And Vs an old friend 
of Mr. Dobb’s, and one ’oo ’as a deep knowledge of the 
world and its pitfalls-” 

“’Ere, steady!” murmured Mr. Clark. 

“And ’oo, I feel sure,” continued Mr. Poskett, with a 
leathery smile at the other man, “will give you good 
counsel and guidance if ever the need for such should 
arise.” 

Miss Nancy Poskett, clearly suspecting the nature of 
this tribute, bowed distantly to Mr. Clark, and sat down 
in a corner. 

“ ’Ave you come straight ’ome from Wicklett & 
Sharp’s, Nancy!” asked Mrs. Poskett, mistrustfully. 

“I came back by way of East Street, aunt.” 

“Meet anyone you know ?” inquired Mrs. Poskett. 

“One or two people,” replied the girl, carelessly. 

“And ’oo were they, pray ?” demanded Mrs. 
Poskett, at once. 

“Oh, no one you know, aunt,” replied Nancy, and 
began to fidget with her brooch. 

“Why, you’re wearing a ring!” shrilled her aunt 
at that, and the girl quickly concealed her hand. “A 
new ring!” went on the elder lady in awesome tones. 
“And on your engagement finger!” 

“Yes,” said Nancy, “that was the finger it was 

meant for.” 

There was a scandalized little wait. Mr. and Mrs. 
Poskett shook their heads, muttering inchoately. Mr. 
Clark gazed upon the mutinous damsel with but thinly 
veiled admiration for her courage. Just as Mr. Poskett 
cleared his throat and drew a deep, long breath, thereby 



88 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


intimating that he had garnered a few fitting phrases 
for immediate use, the girl rose and strolled to the door. 

“Pm just going upstairs to put on my other hat and 
my coat,” she mentioned, casually. 

“You—you’re not going out again, Nancy?” 
quavered Mrs. Poskett, aghast. “Why, it’s a quarter 
to eight!” 

“I want to run out and post a letter, aunt.” 

“Dressing up to go and post a letter!” groaned Mrs. 
Poskett, sepulchrally. 

“Mr. Clark will drop it in the post for you on his way 
back,” said Mr. Poskett. 

“Thanks, but it’s rather special,” returned the girl; 
and passing out of the room, she closed the door 
quietly after her. 

“There you are!” breathed Mrs. Poskett. “There’s 
a brazen hussy to deal with! She’s going out to meet 
him!” 

“You follow ’er the moment she leaves,” Mr. Poskett 
directed Mr. Clark. “And don’t let ’er out of your 
sight.” 

Miss Nancy, returning soon after, in smart outdoor 
toilet, shook Mr. Clark’s hand and bade him a quite 
disinterested farewell. A few moments later the front 
door closed behind her with a definite snap, and, a few 
moments later still, Mr. Clark was in the street, intent 
on following her. 

She was already some score of yards away, but none 
the less an encouraging remark offered by her uncle 
from the doorstep to Mr. Clark on the pavement caught 
her ear. She glanced back, and then went on her way 
at slightly accelerated speed. 

Thrice did the girl turn unexpected corners, and 


A WATCHING BRIEF 


89 


thrice did the portly Mr. Clark have to break into a 
clumsy trot before he brought her in view again. And 
then she continued unremittingly to the very end of a 
particularly long thoroughfare, and faithfully did the 
panting Mr. Clark tag along in her wake on the opposite 
side of the road. 

Presently, Nancy came to a corner at the end of the 
thoroughfare, and here she stopped, gazing expectantly 
this way and that. Mr. Clark with a nimbleness 
surprising in one of his build, skipped into the doorway 
of a shop. The girl, suddenly resuming her course, 
passed swiftly round the corner out of sight. 

With a feeling that the climax of the chase was at 
hand, Mr. Clark darted from his lair and ambled after 
her. Breathlessly he rounded the corner, and here he 
narrowly averted collision with Miss Poskett, who was 
standing quite still beneath a street lamp. 

“Er—er—good evening, miss!” stammered Mr. 
Clark. “I—I thought it might be you! ’Ow—’ow 
do you do ?” 

“You’ve been following me!” she scornfully charged 

him. 

“Oh, no!” he declared. “Just a—a cohincidence! 
I—I simply ’appened to be coming this way, and— 
and-” 

“Fancy! And are you going along this road here 
on the right, too ?” 

“I am, miss.” 

“Well, I’m notr 

“Then—then I’ll wish you good evening again,” he 
said, and wandered forlornly away. 

Nancy sped off again. Mr. Clark, swinging round, 
once more followed the trail, but with greater caution. 



40 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


The girl, turning and twisting among the huddled 
streets of the old seaport town, gave her exhausted 
pursuer an engrossed half-hour. 

Then, again, she halted—exactly opposite her own 
dwelling. And Mr. Clark, tottering to a full-stop, 
fancied he heard a low, gleeful laugh between the 
ensuing opening and shutting of the Posketts’ front 
door. 

It was a stiff and weary-eyed Mr. Clark who called 
to see Mr. Horace Dobb at his shop next morning. 
Mr. Dobb, when furnished with the narrative of the 
previous night’s events, merely smiled unsympatheti¬ 
cally. 

“Never mind!” he said. “It’ll all come right in 
the end. You just keep on, to show you’re in earnest. 
’Ave you arranged with Captain Dutt to leave the 
Mane Gladys’ to-day? Good! And got all the money 
owing to you? Better! Now you must go and sit 
and rest yourself in the ‘Green Dragon/ opposite 
Wicklett & Sharp’s in the ’Igh Street. You’ll be able 
to see when she comes out for dinner then, and keep 
an eye on ’er again.” 

Paithfully did Mr. Clark obey these instructions. 
Not only did he shadow Miss Poskett home in her 
dinner-hour, hut he hung about the road till she emerged 
again, and then watched her back to her place of employ¬ 
ment. But in the interval he was far from happy, and 
his only solace was to be found in the discovery that 
more than one householder spoke respectfully to him 
under the impression that he was so thrilling a thing as 
a detective in the local police force. 

That same evening found him in grim ambush out¬ 
side Messrs. Wicklett & Sharp’s place of business, and 


A WATCHING BRIEF 


41 


there he lurked till the blinds of the shop were lowered, 
and at last Miss Poskett came tripping out. After 
gazing round far more carefully than the sentinel 
realized, Nancy hurried away. 

Sedulously did Mr. Clark follow her, rejoicing that 
he had had the foresight to don an easier pair of shoes 
this evening. But to-night the course was short. A 
couple of hundred yards were covered, and then the 
girl flitted into a big, official-looking edifice. 

“The Registry Office!” ejaculated Mr. Clark. 
“No, it ain’t; it’s the Free Library!” 

He passed into the interior of the building and pro¬ 
ceeded to efface himself behind a newspaper-stand in a 
draughty, ill-lit corner. 

Miss Poskett, seating herself at the table nearest the 
fire, selected a magazine. This, Mr. Clark felt sure, 
was but a ruse, for every time that the swing-door 
opened the girl raised her head expectantly, and then 
glanced up at the big clock before returning her atten¬ 
tion to the magazine. 

Half an hour passed—an hour. Mr. Clark, prevented 
from the solace of tobacco by imperative notices, found 
the time dragging most tediously. His legs had begun 
to ache with the strain of standing and he felt chilled, 
and savage; but he did not dare to risk discovery by 
moving to more comfortable quarters. Another thirty 
minutes crept by, and a new and exquisite agony had 
come to Mr. Clark, for he was thinking now of the many 
snug inns with wffiich the town abounded, and picturing 
the enjoyment of Messrs. Tridge and Lock in some 
such paradise at that moment. 

Another forty minutes lagged painfully past. The 
janitor of the library began a sonorous locking-up in 


42 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS’' 


adjacent apartments, and still Miss Poskett remained 
to divide her attention between the swing-door, the 
clock, and the magazine. 

“Closing time, please!” pronounced the janitor, 
entering. 

Miss Poskett, springing readily to her feet, quitted 
the edifice. Mr. Clark, one vast sensation of numb 
passion, followed more slowly after her. 

Miss Poskett, looking neither to the right nor the 
left, walked briskly back to her abode; and again Mr. 
Clark fancied that he heard a gurgle of malicious satis¬ 
faction as the girl entered the Posketts’ household and 
closed the door after her. 

So furious was Mr. Clark that late as was the hour, 
he stamped round to Fore Street and knocked at the 
door of Mr. Dobb’s little shop. The house was in dark¬ 
ness, but after Mr. Clark’s third thunderous assault on 
the panels, an upper window opened and the head of 
Mr. Dobb, crowned with so obsolete a thing as a night¬ 
cap, protruded in inquiry. 

“Finished, me!” roared Mr. Clark, to this apparition. 

“Don’t you be a silly old stoopid!” counselled Mr. 
Dobb. “You stick to your job like a man!” 

“But it ain’t a man’s job!” declared Mr. Clark. 
“Sneaking about, watching gals, at my time of life! 
I’ll trouble you to ’and in my resignation for me to Mr. 
Poskett, because some’ow I don’t think it ’ud be safe for 
me to see ’im—safe for ’im, I mean!” 

“You wait a bit,” directed Mr. Dobb. “I’ll come 
down to you.” 

And this he did, unbolting the shopdoor and reveal¬ 
ing himself in a chaste dressing-gown of crimson flannel. 
Dragging the fretful Mr. Clark into the back premises, 
he hospitably set out glasses and a bottle, and Mr. 


A WATCHING BRIEF 


43 


Clark’s snarls of annoyance died away into murmurs of 
faint protest. 

“Look ’ere/’ said Horace, seriously, “you take it 
from me that you’re doing very well. Better than you 
think. It don’t matter whether you catches ’er with 
the chap or not; the main point is that he knows by 
now that you’re in earnest.” 

“But ’ow does ’e know ?” queried Mr. Clark. 

“She’s told ’im! She’s kept away from ’im on pur¬ 
pose to diddle you, hut she’s let ’im know by a note 
what’s ’appened last night, and you can bet she’ll let 
’im know what ’appened to-night.” 

“ ’Ow do you know ?” 

“Because,” was Mr. Dobb’s astonishing answer, 
“because I know ’oo the fellow is! I not only know 
’im, but I know ’im well enough to be very friendly with 
’im, and it was ’im w T hat told me she’s sent ’im word.” 

“But if you knows ’oo ’e is, why don’t you tell old 
Poskett and settle the affair ?” asked Mr. Clark, very 
naturally. 

“Because that ain’t in the programme,” replied Mr. 
Dobb. “ ‘Strictly business!’ ” he quoted, enigmati¬ 
cally. “Surely you ain’t forgot that ?” 

“Well, why don’t you tell me ’oo ’e is, and let me 
tell old Poskett ?” 

“There is such a thing as digging up pertaters 
before they’re ready to be dug,” remarked Mr. Dobb, 
mysteriously. 

“Well, anyway, ’ow did you find out ’oo the chap 
was?” asked Mr. Clark, with something akin to pro¬ 
fessional jealousy. 

“Two or three days back,” related Mr. Dobb, “I 
’ad a very ’andsome-looking overmantle mirror for sale 
’ere. It was in the window, and it caught Miss Poskett’s 


44 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


eye. And she stepped in and admired it, and asked 
the price, and you could see she thought it was a bargain. 
But she went out again, trying to be off’and.” 

“Well, is it a riddle, or are you supposed to be telling 
me something ?” asked Mr. Clark, as his friend made a 
long pause. 

“I thought you’d guess the rest, easy. First thing 
next morning in comes a certain young gent, and said 
’e’d ’eard I’d got a overmantel for sale, and ’e bought it 
straight off, almost without looking at it. Ah, if only 
there was more lovers in the world, it ’ud he a happier 
place altogether!” stated Mr. Dobb. “For chaps in 
my line of business, anyway!” 

“Oh, well, I shall be glad when it’s all over and done 
with, that I do assure you !” said Mr. Clark. “I reckon 
I owe old Poskett something for getting me to take on a 
job like this, and a grudge is a debt of honour to me, 
don’t forget!” 

“I don’t mind what you do to ’im after it’s all over , 5,1 
said Mr. Dobb. “In fact, I reckon to quarrel with ’im 
myself before very long. It won’t matter a bit, because 
I ’ave pumped ’im dry in the way of business 
already.” 

“Well, I wish you’d tell me-” began Mr. Clark, 

wistfully. 

“You wait! You see, Sam, you’re all right, but 
you ain’t clever; and if I was to tell you ’oo the chap is 
and what I’ve ’atched out, you’d try to be clever and 
’elp me, and that ’ud spoil everything.” 

And this was an attitude from which Mr. Dobb was 
not to be wooed by all the blandishments of Mr. Clark, 
so at last the stout sailorman, relinquished further 
effort, repaired to the modest lodging he had taken for 
himself in the town, and there retired to bed. 



A WATCHING BRIEF 


45 


So soundly did he sleep as the result of the strain of 
detective work that it was already nearly noon when he 
was awakened next morning by the advent of a visitor 
in the form of Mr. Dobb. 

“I was quite right/’ announced Horace. “That 
gal’s sent another note to ’er young man about the way 
she tricked you last night. Very tickled by it, ’e was; 
but, at the same time, ’e sees what a old nuisance you’re 
going to be to ’em when they wants to meet.” 

“You’ve seen ’im ?” asked Mr. Clark. 

“I ’ave! I’ve been ’aving a long, confidential chat 
with ’im. But I ain’t come to talk about that now. 
I ’appen to know of a job what might suit you—a job 
as ferryman down at the ’arbour.” 

“Just the one job in the world I’d really like!” 
cried Mr. Clark, enthusiastically. “Rowing across the 
river all day from a pub. on one side to a pub. on the 
other!” 

“The pub. on this side is the ‘Flag and Pennant/ ” 
said Horace. “The landlord there runs the ferry, and 
? is ferryman is leaving to-morrow.” 

“I’ll go up and ask for the job.” 

“That ain’t the way to set about it—not in this case. 
You want to use the ’ouse for a few hours first, and then 
lead up to the job tactful-like. Tell the landlord about 
your present job, and ’ow you don’t like it, and so on, 
and come to the ferry gradual.” 

Mr. Clark, bowing to the superior wisdom of Horace, 
spent the whole of the afternoon, after he had watched 
Miss Poskett from her work to her home and back again, 
in the bar-parlour of the “Flag and Pennant” and it 
was not till tea-time that he decided that he had acquired 
sufficient standing as a patron of the house to advance 
a little further in the matter of the ferry. 


46 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“There’s good jobs and bad jobs, ain’t there, sir?” 
be observed, rather irrelevantly, to the dapper young 
landlord. “I wish I could change my job. I got a 
rotten job at present.” 

“Oh!” said the landlord, without much interest. 
“What’s the job?” . 

“Watching a young gal—a artful, tricky young 
gal.” 

“Watching her ? Do you mean you are married 
to her ?” 

“ ’Eaven forbid! I’m watching ’er at ’er relations’ 
wish to find out ’oo she’s carrying-on with unbeknown 
to them.” 

“I shouldn’t have thought it was a very pleasant 
job for a man like you,” observed the landlord, disdain¬ 
fully. 

“It ain’t! Ear from it! Little did I think, when 
Poskett asked me to keep a eye on ’is niece-” 

“Miss Poskett, eh?” exclaimed the landlord, with 
sudden interest. “And so you are the chap who’s trying 
to find out who’s dangling after Miss Poskett, are you ? 
Why, it’s-” 

He checked himself sharply. For a few moments he 
stood tapping his fingers on the counter and eyeing 
Mr. Clark. 

“What’s Poskett going to do when he finds out?” 
he asked. 

“Send ’im about ’is business pretty sharp!” 

“Just the thing!” exclaimed the landlord. 

“Beg pardon, sir ?” 

“Look here,” went on the other, in some excitement, 
“I don’t mind admitting to you that I’ve got more 
than half a mind to have a try after Miss Poskett 
myself. I wondered why she wouldn’t have anything 




A WATCHING BRIEF 


47 


to say to me until, a few days ago, I happened to see 
her with the chap she fancies. If Poskett got rid of 
him-” 

“Hexactly, sir !’ 7 concurred Mr. Clark. “That hid 
be your chance, wouldn’t it ?” 

“It would!” 

“Then tell me ’oo ’e is, and- 99 

“No; if Miss Poskett got to hear I was mixed up in 

it- But I’ll tell you what I will do! Here, come 

to the window! See that cottage across the harbour— 
the one with the figurehead in the garden? Well, he 
lodges there. His name is Jones—William Jones. 
Here, come back!’’ cried the landlord, forcefully detain¬ 
ing Mr. Clark. “Don’t you understand that you’ve 
got to catch ’em together first? Now, he hasn’t been 
out lately, because he hasn’t been very well. But if 
you were to watch that cottage-” 

“I’d catch ’im whenever ’e left, and if I followed 
’im-” 

“That’s it! He’s sure to be meeting her sooner or 
later. You’ll easily recognize him—he’s got a big 
black moustache, and he’s a tall, thin chap.” 

“But suppose ’e left the ’ouse and didn’t cross the 
’arbour, and I was stuck on this side ?” artfully 
suggested Mr. Clark. 

“I have it!” cried the landlord of the “Flag and 
Pennant.” “Blessed if I don’t do you a good turn, 
since you’re going to do me one! You can take over 
my ferry-boat. Then you can row backwards and 
forwards all day, watching the place unsuspected. 
And if you see him leave and not cross the harbour, 
you can row over as quickly as you can and follow him. 
And if he does cross, why, he’s bound to come over in 
your ferry, and then you can always jump out after 







48 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


him and track him till he meets her, and then you can 
fetch old Poskett along to see ’em!” 

“It certainly sounds a proper plan,” approved Mr. 
Clark. “But after I’ve fetched Poskett—do I lose the 
ferry job then?” 

“No,” said the landlord, handsomely. “I’ll let you 
keep it on, on the usual terms. After all, some one’s 
got to do it, and it may as well be you, especially since 
you’ll have helped me a bit.” 

Overjoyed at this facile arrangement, Mr. Clark 
celebrated his new engagement so thoroughly that he 
quite omitted to provide unwelcome escort for Miss 
Poskett that evening. Next morning he entered upon 
his new duties, and rowed back and forth across the 
estuary with ever a vigilant eye lifting towards the 
cottage with the figurehead in its garden. 

But no one answering to the description of William 
Jones did he discern all day, and when at last business 
was over at a late hour, he went along to see Mr. Horace 
Dobb and tell him all that there was to be told. 

“Ah, now you’re all right!” said Mr. Dobb, patroniz¬ 
ingly. “So mind you do the job satisfactory, and keep 
your eyes well open.” 

“I shall give Poskett notice at the end of the week,” 
said Mr. Clark. “Now I’m hindependent of ’im, I 
want to get shut of ’is nasty little job as soon as 
possible.” 

“But you mustn’t,” pointed out Horace. “Far as 
I can see, the main reason why Lupcott, the landlord 
of the ‘Flag and Pennant,’ ’as given you the job of 
ferryman is that so you can get rid of this ’ere rival for 
’im.” 

“I forgot that,” admitted Mr. Clark. “Never mind, 


A WATCHING BRIEF 


49 


I’ll soon nab the pair of ’em now, and then I can turn 
over a new leaf.” 

But, indeed, Mr. Clark had not succeeded in catching 
even a glimpse of Mr. William Jones by the next day, 
nor the next, nor the next after that. Confessing his 
failure rather apprehensively to his patron, Mr. Lupcott, 
he was relieved when that gentleman, bidding him cheer 
up, cited the precedent of Bruce’s spider. 

A few more days passed. Mr. Clark, now well estab¬ 
lished in his new sphere of activity, was winning custom 
and popularity by the nice distinction of his manners 
and the careful choice of his vocabulary, and was almost 
forgetting the very existence of the secretive Mr. 
Jones, when one morning the affair of Miss Poskett’s 
love passage suddenly loomed large again before 
him. 

It so chanced that Mr. Clark had just started from the 
further side of the river, when loud shouts for his 
immediate presence claimed his attention. 

“Bit of a ’urry, seemingly,” commented Mr. Clark, 
and obligingly began to row back. 

There were two male figures awaiting him. One of 
them was brandishing his arms and bellowing; the 
other, taking matters more calmly, leaned in repose 
against a post, smiling at his companion’s vehemence. 
The excitable gentleman was Mr. Poskett, the other 
was Mr. Horace Dobb. 

“A nice thing! A nice thing!” raved Mr. Poskett, 
as the nose of the ferry-boat grounded and Mr. Clark 
stepped ashore. “You’re a fraud! A impostor! A 
broken reed! A foolish virgin!” 

The bewildered Mr. Clark, gazing from this figure of 
wrath to the placid mien of Mr. Dobb, received a slow, 
significant wink from that gentleman. 



50 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“I’ve been betrayed!” shrilly declaimed Mr. 
Poskett. “I’ve been wounded in my tend'eresi feel¬ 
ings! While you’ve been pretendin’ to be so watchful 
and alert, my niece ’as slipped away and got married! 
She’s just sent me a telegram, telling me about it, and 
’ow she was starting off on ’er ’oneymoon!” 

“ ’As she—’as she married ’im, after all ?” queried 
Mr. Clark, in a surprised tone that was not entirely 
devoid of approval. 

“She ’as! She’s been meetin’ ’im regular the last 
few days, it seems, and-” 

“Married that ’ere Jones, and I never so much as 
set eyes on ’im!” marvelled Mr. Clark. “There’s 
artfulness!” 

Mr. Poskett, gasping for words, shook his head 
helplessly. 

“It was Mr. Lupcott, of the ‘Flag and Pennant/ 
she married, Sam,” said Mr. Dobb, softly. 

“Ah, ’e told me this morning that ’e was going away 
for a few days, and ’e clapped me on the shoulder and 
laughed, and I wondered why!” cried Mr. Clark. 
“But—but that ’ere Jones-” 

“There never was any Jones, Sam,” explained Mr. 
Dobb, in gentle accents. “Lupcott invented ’im simply 
to keep you fixed in one spot, so ’e could go on meeting 
Miss Poskett. Matter of fact, I invented ’im for 
Lupcott! It was Lupcott ’oo was after ’er all along, as 
I knew.” 

“But—but-” 

Mr. Dobb nodded significantly towards Mr. 
Poskett. 

“Look ’ere!” readily cried Mr. Clark, advancing on 
that gentleman threateningly. “This ’ere slipway is 
private property, and I’m in charge of it. And I don’t 






A WATCHING BRIEF 


51 


want yon anging about ’ere listening to gentlemen’s 
conversation! I don’t like the looks of you, me man. 
I never did, and I never shall, so clear out!” 

“ ’Ear, ’ear!” murmured Horace, shamelessly. 

“If you’ve got anything to say to me,” warned Mr. 
Clark, “I advise you not to say it! Get! See? 
Get l” 

Mr. Poskett, noting the terrible earnestness of Mr. 
Clark’s visage, glanced wildly about him, and discovered 
how remote the slipway was from civilization. Yield¬ 
ing suddenly to panic, he turned and trotted away, 
followed by the heartless laughter of Mr. Dobb and 
certain blood-curdling threats from Mr. Clark. 

“That’s settled ’im!” stated Mr. Dobb. “ ’E ain’t 
the sort to trouble you again.” 

“And a good job too!” declared Mr. Clark. “It’s 
the first really comfortable minute I’ve spent since first 
I took ’is little job on.” 

“Never mind, Sam, it served its purpose,” said Mr. 
Dobb. “Soon as ever ’e spoke to me about ’is niece, 
and as soon as ever I knew that Lupcott was in it, I 
began to look round for a chance. And when I learned 
Lupcott’s ferryman was leaving ’im, I saw the chance 
sticking out as plain as plain. Luckily I was friendly 
with all parties. It was me what put Lupcott up to 
the plan of giving you the ferry to look after to keep 
you from interfering; it was me what suggested you to 
Poskett for the job of watching ’is niece; and it was 
me, Sam, what advised Lupcott not to let you know 
? ow things really stood, in case you might want to be 
too ’elpful. And I know what you are when you tries 
to be clever.” 

“Well, I’m sure I’m very much obliged to you,” mur¬ 
mured Mr. Clark. 


52 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS’" 


“Put two and two neatly together, ’ave you, and 
found out ’oo the answer is ?” bantered Mr. Dobb. 
“Ain’t I a wonder? All that ’ead work done by me, 
and you only ’ad to stand by and wait—and you didn’t 
even know you was standing by and waiting. So now, 
if you likes, you can take me into the ‘Flag and Pen¬ 
nant’ and stand me something to drink success to your 
new career.” 

“Wait a hit,” said Mr. Clark, counting his available 
wealth. “Get in the boat, and let me take you across 
the river and back again. The fare’ll be tuppence. And 
then we can both ’ave a drink!” 


EPISODE III 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 

S UPERLATIVE virtues of construction and design, 
never before suspected, wero boldly claimed for the 
“Jane Gladys’’ in the auctioneer’s announcement which 
advertised her imminent sale. So respect-compelling 
was the list of good qualities now stated to be embodied 
in the unlovely hulk of that ancient vessel that even the 
two members of her crew who lingered on in residence 
as caretakers felt that their social standing was en¬ 
hanced by association with such a superior craft. In 
order to demonstrate their new-found dignity, they left 
unperformed as much menial work as possible, pre¬ 
ferring to sun themselves on deck in more fitting and 
gentlemanly leisure. 

Thus it was that Mr. Joseph Tridge was idly leaning 
against the side one morning, surveying the horizon with 
a certain bored restfulness, and Mr. Peter Lock was 
reclining on deck in triple enjoyment of pipe and news¬ 
paper and slippered ease, when a voice hailed the “Jane 
Gladys” from a small boat further out in the river. 

In the boat was the venerable Mr. Samuel Clark, 
formerly the doyen of the “Jane Gladys’ ” crew, and 
now, by the grace of Fate and the artifice of man, the 
motive-power of the little ferry which plied across Shore- 
haven Harbour at its mouth. 

“Why, ’ullo, Sam!” greeted Mr. Tridge, waking to 
extreme cordiality. “Just the chap I was ’oping to see! 
Tie up and come aboard!” 

53 


54 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Not me!” replied Mr. Clark, very definitely. 

“Not just for a chat ?” wheedled Mr. Tridge. “It’s 
a bit dull for us ’ere, you know, Sam.” 

“I ain’t going to risk it,” replied Mr. Clark. “I 
only give you a friendly shout as I was passing, like. 
You ain’t going to cut my ’air again to-day, Joe, so 
you might just as well understand that at once. You cut 
it yesterday, and you cut it last Thursday, and you 
cut it last Toosday. I don’t mean to be unfriendly 
or un’elpful, Joe, but you’ve got to give it a rest to-day!” 

“Well, I must practice on something!” protested 
Mr. Tridge. 

“Practice on Peter Lock, then,” recommended Mr. 
Clark. 

Mr. Lock rose and looked over the side. Mr. Lock’s 
hair, oiled and combed to a miracle of sleekness, glis¬ 
tened in the sun; Mr. Lock’s chin and cheeks, bizarrely 
ornamented with strips of sticking-plaster, presented an 
object-lesson in first aid to the injured. 

“I’ve struck!” announced Mr. Lock. “I ain’t going 
to humour him no more. I’ve let ’im practise shaving 
on me till me face looks as if some one had been play¬ 
ing noughts-and-crosses on it in red ink, and I’ve let 
him shampoo and brilliantine my hair till I can’t hardly 
read for the smell of it.” 

“ ’Orace told me to put in all the practice I could,” 
said Mr. Tridge, stoutly. “And I’m going to.” 

“But what for ?” queried Mr. Clark. “What for ? 
That’s what I wants to know.” 

“So do I!” admitted Mr. Tridge. “ ’Orace ’asn’t 
told me yet. All Vs told me to do is to train meself 
for ’air-dressing, and that’s what I’m doing. What 
’Orace says is good enough for me!” 

Mr. Clark nodded approval of such simple loyalty. 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


55 


He mentioned that even when Horace had been cook 
to the “Jane Gladys ’ 7 he was always averse from pre¬ 
mature revelation of the workings of his mind; and 
went on to say that now Horace was no longer Horace 
the cook, but had blossomed out into Mr. Horace Dobb, 
second-hand dealer, carrying on business in a little shop 
in Fore Street, Shorehaven, he cultivated an even 
greater reticence in matters of diplomacy. 

“ ‘Learn a hit of ’air-dressing,’ says ’Orace to me,” 
narrated Mr. Tridge, “and I’m learning a hit of ’air¬ 
dressing according. ’Orace ’as got something in ’is 
mind, you can depend on that. And I take it a hit 
uncharitable of you, Sam, not to ’elp me and ’Orace. 
’Ow can I practise ’air-dressing if I don’t get no ’air 
to dress ?” 

“Practise on the ship’s mop,” put forward Mr. Clark. 

“I’ve done that,” said Mr. Tridge, with scorn for 
so obvious a suggestion. “I’ve propped that up and 
give it a ’air-cut over and over again, till it’s only a 
bare stump now. Yes, and I’ve clean-shaved the ship’s 
scrubbing-brush, too, to see how I’d get on with a really 
stiff beard. But you must ’ave living models to do any 
good. ’Ow else can you tell if you’re ’urting?” 

“Oh, well,” yielded Mr. Clark, “just to keep your 
’and in, I’ll let you shave the hack of my neck if you 
like, only don’t forget that the hack of me neck don’t 
leave off level with the top of my ears.” 

He fastened his boat and went aboard his old home. 
Seating himself resignedly on a packing-case, he sub¬ 
mitted to the ministrations of Mr. Tridge. So that Mr. 
Horace Dobb, appearing presently on the gang-plank, 
expressed commendation of the assiduity with which 
Mr. Tridge was seeking to acquire tonsorial skill. 


56 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“All the same, ’Orace,” remarked Mr. Tridge, “I 
should like to know what the idea is.” 

“Only another day or two, Joe,” promised Mr. Dobb, 
“and then, if things pan out right, you’ll he-cutting 
’air in a little shop practically your own. ’Ow’s that, 
eh V 9 

“Well, I take it as very kind of you, ’Orace,” said 
Mr. Tridge, with gratitude. 

“Then you takes it wrong,” retorted Mr. Dobb. “You 
know my motter, don’t you ?” 

“Yes, we all knows it,” put in Mr. Lock, a little 
hostilely. “It’s ‘Strictly Business!’ Saved you a pint 
or two in its time, hasn’t it, that motter ?” 

“It ’as,” confirmed Mr. Dobb, by no means abashed. 
“It is a jolly good motter, far as I’m concerned. And 
this ’air-dressing idea is strictly business. I’m working 
it for all our sakes, and mine most of all. When I’ve 
got Joe settled as a barber and found something for 
you, Peter, the four of us ought to work some good 
deals together, from my little place.” 

“A ferryman, a barber, a—a something else, and a 
second-hand dealer,” catalogued Mr. Lock. “It ain’t 
a bad web to spread. Lots of rubbish gets sold because 
of rumours about them being vallyble.” 

“Exackly!” concurred Mr. Dobb. “And barbers’ 
shops and ferry-boats is the place for gossip. And 
there’s lots of strangers visits Shore’ aven during the 
year.” 

“And so you’re going to start me in a barber’s shop!” 
remarked Mr. Tridge, with great satisfaction. “Will 
there be a cash-register?” he asked, as an interesting 
after-thought. 

“No, I ain’t going to start you, Joe,” corrected Mr. 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


57 


Dobb. “It’s a Mrs. Jackson what’s going to start you, 
only she don’t know it yet.” 

“A widow!” divined Mr. Tridge. 

“A old widow, and a bit of a pal of my missis’s,” 
supplemented Mr. Dobb. 

“Ah, I guessed there was a catch somewhere!” sourly 
stated Mr. Tridge. “Well, I ain’t going to get mar¬ 
ried, see ? I ain’t at all the marrying sort. I prefers 
to remain single, thank you. Besides which, I’ve got 
one somewhere, already.” 

“That’s all right, Joe,” returned Mr. Dobb, sooth¬ 
ingly. “I expect she’d turn up ’er eyes at you in ’oly 
’orror in any case. She’s a pillar of temp’rance, Joe, 
and a anti-smoker and a anti-gambler, and all the rest 
of it.” 

“No wonder she’s a widow!” softly commented Mr. 
Lock. 

“And, anyway,” said Mr. Tridge, churlishly, “I don’t 
want no business dealings with a woman like that!” 

“You won’t see ’er often, Joe,” returned Mr. Dobb. 
“She only comes into Shore’aven once a month or so, 
just to collect the rents of a few cottages she’s got. 
Comes in for the day, she does, settles ’er business, 
gets a cheap tea along of my missis, and back she goes 
’ome, a good three miles away.” 

“Well, where do I come in ?” asked Mr. Tridge. 

“You comes in at one hundred and twenty-one, ’Igh 
Street,” replied Mr. Dobb. “That belongs to ’er. It’s 
a little, tiny, squeezed-in shop what she owns. It’s a 
barber’s shop.” 

“I see. And I’m to be the hassistant,” surmised 
Mr. Tridge. 

“Hassistant ? Why, it’s so small that if there was 


58 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


to be a hassistant there’d be no room left for a cus¬ 
tomer! No, Joe; you’re to run the ’ole show. The 
chap what’s there now is leaving soon, you see.” 

Mr. Dobb, anticipating the further curiosity of Mr. 
Tridge, went on to explain that the present tenant was 
in occupation of the premises on profit-sharing terms 
with the landlady. The stock and fixtures had recently 
come into Mrs. Jackson’s possession in the course of 
business, subsequent to the temporary employment of 
a broker’s man. 

And now Mrs. Jackson, loth to lose her interest in 
the barbering profession, designed to procure yet another 
hairdresser to fill the place, on the same terms of part¬ 
nership, of the dispossessed tenant. 

“Of course,” said Mr. Dobb, “I ain’t supposed to 
know much about it. I only know what she’s told 
my missis in gossip, and I must say my missis is a good 
’un at asking a few simple questions over a cup of tea 
without appearing nosey over it.” 

“Well, and what do I do now?” asked Mr. Tridge. 
“Go up and ask ’er for the job ?” 

“Bless you, no!” was Horace’s baffling response. 
“Why, she’s filled it already, far as she’s concerned.” 

“That’s the back of my neck, Joe, when you’ve fin¬ 
ished cutting rashers out of it,” came Mr. Clark’s mild 
reminder. 

“Well, ’Orace shouldn’t go giving me shocks like 
that!” indignantly exclaimed Mr. Tridge. “ ’Ere ’ave 
I been spending a ’ole week learning ’air-dressing in 
all its branches, and now, just when I’m perfect, ’e 
breaks the noos to me in a roundabout way that I’ve 
wasted my time for nothing!” 

“I said as far as she was concerned, Joe,” remarked 
Mr. Dobb. “Not as far as I was concerned. That’s 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


59 


a very different matter. You just carry on and wait 
a day or two. And you, Sam Clark, you tell your 
boss that you’re rather hexpeeting to ’ave another attack 
of colic soon, and stand by to take horders from me 
at any minute.” 

Refusing to shed further enlightenment at this junc¬ 
ture, Mr. Dobb turned and left the “Jane Gladys” 
with rather a consciously Napoleonic stride. 

For the rest of that day Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock 
found engrossing employment in devising theories as 
to the exact nature of Mr. Dobb’s machinations. Mr. 
Lock was of opinion that Mr. Tridge would be called 
on to impersonate Mrs. Jackson’s new partner in the 
hairdressing business, though he admitted that he could 
not imagine how this was to be carried through to 
complete success. On the other hand, Mr. Tridge, dis¬ 
playing a truculent species of pessimism, obstinately 
inclined to the belief that yet a parson and a wedding- 
ring would be found to be lurking at the back of Mr. 
Dobb’s strategy. 

And Mr. Samuel Clark, ever somewhat crude and 
confused in his ideas, plied his ferry all that after¬ 
noon, oblivious of his surroundings even to the point 
of returning thanks for a tip of a French halfpenny. 
The only thing his mind could dwell on was that, at 
some near date, the widowed Mrs. Jackson was to be 
lured by Horace into a hairdressing saloon and there 
relieved, by some pretext, of the money she had been 
collecting in rents. The morality of such a proceeding 
did not trouble the plump sailorman; he found sufficient 
extenuation in the thought that it was the job of the 
police to prevent such things. 

But late that same evening, at the “Jolly Sailors,” 
Mr. Dobb exhibited himself in a more communicative 


60 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


mood. Assembling bis former shipmates around him, 
he extended a strictly rationed hospitality towards them, 
and then, of his own free-will, reverted to the twin 
subjects of the hairdressing business and Mrs. Jackson. 

“The old gal came in to tea quite unexpected to-day,” 
he said. “That’s three times in a little over a fort¬ 
night. ’Owever, I sold ’er a second-’and dish-cover, 
so she’s paid for more than she’s ate up to now. She 
sat a long time over ’er tea chatting to my missis. Of 
course it didn’t hinterest me, so I went out into the 
shop. Only I couldn’t ’elp ’earing a lot, because some- 
’ow I’d left the door open, and it would ’ave looked 
so rude to ’ave closed it deliberate between us.” 

He leaned back and, with a smile of profound self- 
satisfaction, eyed each of his friends in turn. 

“Well ?” prompted Mr. Tridge. 

“The new chap she’s got ’er eye on is arriving the 
day after to-morrow to see the place and fix up finally 
with ’er. Oh, she’s very took with ’im! She ain’t 
ever seen ’im yet, but ’is letters ’ave touched ’er ’eart 
proper. It seems ’e’s just the very sort of chap she’s 
been advertising for—a lifelong teetotaller, a non- 
smoker, never bets nor swears, always punctual, steady, 
and methodical.” 

“In short,” restively summarized Mr. Tridge, “just 
the sort of chap I ain’t! Seems to me I stands a fine 
chance against ’im with a silly old geezer like ’er!” 
he added, ungallantly. “ ’Owever, go on!” 

“ ’E’s coming down from London by the hexpress. 
Well, now, supposing ’e didn’t harrive, or something 
went wrong and they failed to come to a hagreement ? 
W T hy, the shop would be standing empty from next 
Saturday, and she’d be at ’er wits’ ends to find some 
one else! She’s spent pounds in hadvertising for a 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


61 


teetotal, non-smoking barber as it is. Well, up you 
goes to see ’er, Joe Tridge, gives me as a reference, 
and gets the job temporary. And once you’re in, you 
ain’t the man you used to be if anything short of 
dynamite gets you out of that job again.” 

“But why couldn’t you ’ave recommended me to start 
with ?” 

“I didn’t know in time. And, for another thing, 
she was so set on getting a pattern of virtue. But 
when she finds things ’ave gone wrong, and there's 
no time to spare, unless she’s willing to lose money 
by it, she won’t be so partic’lar, and she’ll overlook 
some of your faults, Joe, if you keeps the rest of ’em 
dark.” 

“You seem pretty sure things are going wrong,” said 
Mr. Tridge. 

“I can feel it in me bones,” returned Mr. Dobb. 
“Anyway Mrs. Jackson’s coming in the day after to¬ 
morrow to meet this chap at one hundred and twenty- 
one, ’Igh Street. Now, I may be at the station when 
? e arrives, and pass the time of day with ’im.” 

“I can ’ear the dawn breaking,” observed Mr. Tridge, 
humorously. “You’ll tell ’im there’s nothing doing, 
and say you were sent by ’er to meet ’im and tell ’im 
so. And she’ll think ’e never come ?” 

“Helementary, Joe,” criticized Mr. Dobb. “Most 
helementary! ’E’d write to ’er when ’e got back, and 
then the fat ’ud be out of the frying-pan and into the 
fire. No, I mean to fix it so that she’s finished with 
? im for good and all two minutes after she’s first set 
eyes on ’im!” 

“And ’ow do you do that ?” asked Mr. Lock. “Mes¬ 
merism ?” 

“No, circumstantial hevidence,” returned Mr. Dobb, 


m 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


happily. “There’s more people comes a cropper oyer 
circumstantial hevidence than over the truth coming out 
by haccident, and that’s saying a lot!” 

He glanced warily about him, and then raised his 
arms in a gesture inviting closer heed to his words. 
Eour heads bent over the table; three pairs of ears 
listened attentively. From one pair of lips came a 
whispered fluency of instruction and explanation. 
Finally, Mr. Dobb sat back with simpering pride, and 
his three companions unanimously expressed their awed 
respect for his brain-powers. 

Again Mr. Dobb bent forward to add sundry details, 
promising to instruct those selected for dramatic roles 
at a more private opportunity on the morrow. 

Mr. Samuel Clark, flattered by having the star part 
assigned to him, promised that he would rehearse on 
every possible occasion during the following day. 

Some twenty-two hours later Mr. Dobb called at Mr. 
Clark’s lodgings to see whether he was fulfilling this 
promise, and Mr. Clark at once afforded him something 
in the nature of a dress rehearsal. 

“Puffect!” declared Horace, with enthusiasm. “A 
born actor couldn’t do it better, especially when you 
rolls your eyes up like that. I see it was blowing a 
bit fresh when I come along just now, so there’ll be 
a nice little ground-swell off the ’arbour-mouth to-mor¬ 
row. ’Ave you arranged to ’ave colic to-morrow, like 
I told you ?” 

“All fixed up; and I’ve got some one else to look 
after the ferry for the day, and I’ve borrowed a small 
boat, like what you said. And I shall be waiting where 
you told me all the morning.” 

“That’s the idea!” approved Horace. “And now; 
we’ll just go and see if Peter Lock remembers all he’s 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


63 


got to say, and then we’ll see if the clock in the 1 Jolly 
Sailors’ keeps good time.” 

Mr. Horace Dobb was patrolling the platform of 
Shorehaven railway-station next morning when the ex¬ 
press from London came to a standstill there. 

Of the few passengers that thankfully alighted, the 
majority were sailormen. Several women and children 
made up a goodly share of the rest of the number. Of 
the half-dozen residue, five were gentlemen known to 
Mr. Dohb by sight or personally. The sixth was a 
complete stranger, and Mr. Dohb, with a pious expres¬ 
sion of gratitude for this simplification of his task of 
identifying Mrs. Jackson’s expected visitor, at once 
approached him. 

“Are you going straight hack to the Town ’All, Mr. 
Binson?” asked Horace, innocently. 

“I’m afraid you’re making an error,” was the reply. 
“My name is not Binson.” 

“Mean to tell me you’re not Mr. Binson, our town- 
clerk of Shore’aven ’ere ?” demanded Mr. Dobb, in¬ 
credulously. 

“No, I am not. I am a complete stranger to this 
town.” 

“Well, well,” marvelled Mr. Dohb, “you are the exact 
image of Mr. Binson, that’s all I can say.” 

“Indeed ?” returned the other, with scant interest in 
the coincidence. “Well, as I say, I am a perfect 
stranger here. I should he glad, in fact, if you would 
tell me the nearest way to the High Street. I have a 
business appointment there.” 

“Oh!” said Mr. Dohb, with equal listlessness. 
“Which end of Tgh Street ? It makes a difference ’ow 
you goes from ’ere, according to which end you want.’* 


64 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Number one hundred and twenty-one. It’s a bar¬ 
ber’s shop.” 

“I know it,” said Mr. Dobb. “Name of Bonner.” 

“At present, yes,” conceded the other. “It really 
belongs to a lady, though—to Mrs. Jackson. Perhaps 
you know her ?” 

“ ’Eard of ’er, I fancy,” returned Mr. Dobb, cur¬ 
sorily. “Pity you got out at this station, though. Your 
nearest would ’ave been the station the other side of 
the river. ’Owever, you come along of me, and I’ll 
see you on the right road. Shall we just ’ave one 
gargle before we start ?” 

“Gargle ?” asked the other one, in perplexity. 

“Tonic,” elucidated Mr. Dobb. “Drink.” 

“Thank you, no,” was the reply. “I am a lifelong 
abstainer from all alcoholic drinks.” 

“Just as you like,” said Mr. Dobb, readily. “Well, 
come along with me, and I’ll take you down to the 
ferry and get you taken across the river, and you’ll 
soon be there.” 

“I didn’t know there was another station. I suppose 
the ferry is the shortest way? I’m not a good sailor, 
and-” 

Mr. Dobb’s eyes glinted. 

“Oh, you’ll be all right!” he declared, and led the 
other man by devious paths away from the neighbour¬ 
hood of the High Street and down to the harbour. To 
avoid questions which might be thorny to answer, Mr. 
Dobb walked swiftly and a little in advance of his com¬ 
panion, who, evidently deeming Mr. Dobb something 
of a roisterous blade, seemed relieved by this arrange¬ 
ment. Arrived at the quay, Mr. Dobb perceived the 
lounging form of Mr. Samuel Clark, and led the stranger 
up to him. 



CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


65 


“This gent wants you to row ’im over to near the 
? Igh Street, ferryman,” said Mr. Dobb. “Oh, and be 
as quick over it as you can,” he added, holding Mr. 
Clark’s gaze; “because ’e says Vs not a very good 
sailor.” 

“I’ll be as quick as I can,” promised Mr. Clark; 
“but there’s a pretty strong tide running, sir, don’t 
forget.” 

“There’s no risk I suppose ?” asked the visitor, smil¬ 
ing a little anxiously. 

“Bless you, no, sir,” declared Mr. Clark, cosily. 
“You’ll be as safe as ’ouses with me!” 

With a courteous exchange of compliments, Mr. Dobb 
parted from his new acquaintance. A minute later 
Mr. Clark had begun to convey his passenger across the 
river, and Mr. Dobb was returning homeward with the 
mien of one whose morning has been well spent. 

“The current seems quite strong,” remarked the gen¬ 
tleman from London. 

“It are,” agreed Mr. Clark, straining at his sculls. 
“The current’s always pretty strong ’ere when the tide’s 
running out. Like a mill-stream sometimes, and the 
worst of it is that you don’t know it till you get well 
out on it.” 

“I hope we’ll land at the nearest point opposite.” 

“We’ll try to land there,” amended Mr. Clark, 
gravely. “Matter of fact, the tide’s stronger to-day than 
I’ve ever known it before.” 

“We seem to be drifting further and further down 
the river,” observed the other, now clearly falling prey 
to nerves. “Do you think it would be better to turn 
round and go back ?” 

“Turn round, sir—with the tide running out?” 
asked Mr. Clark, in accents almost scandalized. “Why, 


66 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


we should be capsized for dead, certain sure, in less 
than no time. Begging your pardon, sir, but it’s plain 
you’re no sailor, to talk like that. No, we can’t turn 
back.” 

“Well, perhaps if you were to—to keep the—the 
front of the boat pointed straighter for the bank oppo¬ 
site-” 

“I can’t!” stated Mr. Clark. “The tide’s too strong. 
We must land as near as we can, that’s all. I never 
knoo such a tide!” he ended, pettishly. 

“You—you don’t think there’s any chance of being 
carried out beyond that lighthouse there at the very 
end, do you?” 

“I ’ope and pray not!” soberly returned Mr. Clark. 

He bent to his sculls with the greatest determination. 
A more sophisticated passenger might have noticed that 
the ferryman was pulling far harder with one arm 
than the other. The present fare, however, was en¬ 
grossed in observing more and more of the opposite 
bank slip by. 

“I do believe we shall be carried right out to sea!” 
he said at last, with the utmost concern. 

“Not if I can ’elp it!” denied Mr. Clark, and gave 
a straining, spectacular display of oarsmanship. 

“We shall be carried out to sea!” 

Mr. Clark, shipping his skulls with commendable 
neatness, stared owlishly at the passenger for a few 
moments, and then ejaculated: 

“Ooh! Ooh, ah!” with intensity of feeling. 

“What is it ? Whatever is it ?” 

“Ooh! Ooh, ah!” repeated Mr. Clark. “It’s my 
? eart!” he explained, hollowly, and made a fearsome 
rolling of his eyes. “I’ve strained it, or busted it, or 
something.” 



CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


67 


“But—but we shall be capsized—drowned!” 

“I couldn’t row another stroke just now, not to save 
my life,” groaned Mr. Clark. “And you mustn’t try 
to take the oars, not even if you know ’ow to manage 
’em. You’d upset the boat if you tried to change places 
with me, and you’d upset it if you tried to row from 
where you’re sitting.” 

His passenger, abandoning a half-formed intention, 
sat very still. 

“Can’t we shout to the people ashore?” he asked, 
dismally, as the little boat swept on past the harbour 
lighthouse. 

“They couldn’t ’ear you,” moaned Mr. Clark. 

“I could wave to them!” 

“And upset the boat ?” asked Mr. Clark, faintly. 
“She’s very, very easy upset. The chap what owns 
this boat never tells ’er ’istory when ’es ’iring it out 
to visitors in the summer.” 

“What can we do f What can we do ?” 

“Do ? Why, nothing, except ’ope. We must just 
let the old boat float out and trust to luck.” 

“But—but-” protested the other, wildly. 

“Ooh! Ooh, ah!” bellowed Mr. Clark, in accents 
of acute anguish, as the easiest way to foreclose vain 
conversation. 

He sat back, groaning horribly, and rubbing various 
portions of his anatomy, a fearful glare in his eyes. 
The other man, watching him miserably, took a firm 
grasp of the seat as the little craft began to pitch and 
dance over the turmoil of the harbour-bar. 

“We—we—we-” murmured Mr. Clark, with 

difficulty. 

“We what?” asked the other, eagerly. 

“I dunno,” said Mr. Clark, blankly. 




68 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


There was dire silence, The little boat drifted fur¬ 
ther and further out, till it was clear of the harbour, 
and here the scour of the tide carried it well away from 
the roadstead. 

Mr. Clark, opening one eye, shrewdly surveyed the 
locality. 

“Just—just remembered,” he said. “We’ve got a 
anchor ’ere in the locker—a anchor and any amount 
of cable. We’ll chuck it over, and we’ll ride ’ere, as 
easy as easy, till the tide turns.” 

“Don’t you feel strong enough to row us back now ?” 

“ ’Ave a ’eart, sir!” begged Mr. Clark, reproachfully. 
“It ’ud pull my arms out of their sockets to row against 
this current. But we’ll be all right ’ere. Once I get 
the anchor overboard, like this, we’ll be as safe as safe.” 

“All very well!” fulminated the passenger, recover¬ 
ing a little spirit when he noted that the anchor had 
checked further seaward flow. “But why-” 

“Ooh! Ooh, ah!” interrupted Mr. Clark. “For 
’eaven’s sake, sir, don’t go a-hagitating of me. When 
I ’ave attacks like this, I’m sometimes liable to fits, 
and if I ’ave a fit ’ere, over goes the boat, and it’s all 
up with both of us!” 

“Oh, dear—oh, dear!” wailed the other, subsiding. 

“I—I’m going to lie down in the bottom of the boat,” 
announced Mr. Clark, wanly. “And if I smokes a pipe 
that might do me good, by composing of my nerves.” 

He kindled his pipe, and forthwith settled himself 
very comfortably in the bottom of the boat. For head¬ 
rest, he had a pillow he fortunately happened to have 
brought with him. By a similar kindness of chance, 
he had also provided himself with a thick overcoat, 
and with this he now snugly covered himself. 

Ensued a bleak period of human silence, accentuated 



CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


69 


by the lapping of the water round the boat, and the 
phantom-like scream of wheeling sea-birds. The pas¬ 
senger, sitting humped-up in an attitude of complete 
dejection, surveyed the prone Mr. Clark and subcon¬ 
sciously became aware of the gentle, rhythmic fall and 
rise of the anchored craft. 

“Really, it’s most unfortunate!” he whined, at last. 
“Most unfor-” 

He stopped abruptly; his expression was a blend of 
alarm and self-suspicion. 

“Dear me!” he muttered. “Oh! I do hope-” 

Mr. Clark, stirring, opened one eye sufficiently to see 
that the complexion of his companion had passed to a 
strange olive-green shade, and that he was holding his 
palm to his forehead. Mr. Clark closed his eye again 
with a warm glow of satisfaction. 

Twenty minutes later, Mr. Clark again glanced at his 
companion. That gentleman’s complexion was now 
some shades lighter, though still green of hue, and he 
was sitting with his arms hanging limply by his side. 
His expression suggested that he had no further interest 
in life. 

“ ’Ow are you gettin’ on ?” asked Mr. Clark. 

The other man, turning a pair of glassy eyes on 
him, shook his head dolefully and groaned. Mr. Clark, 
settling down again in comfort, was callous enough to 
smile. 

Another half-hour elapsed, with the stout ferryman 
taking life easily at the bottom of the boat, and with 
the passenger gaining inside information as to the 
treacherous nature of a small boat when anchored in 
deep waters. Then, for the third time, Mr. Clark 
appraised the state of his passenger and decided that 
the time for convalescence had come. 




70 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Heartily remarking that the rest had done him a 
world of good, he resumed his seat and began to scull 
towards the harbour with the greatest of ease. His 
passenger, drooping woefully in his place, evidenced no 
emotion whatever at this impending termination to his 
troubles. 

In excellent style Mr. Clark regained the sanctuary 
of the harbour and drew near to the quay. Mr. Peter 
Lock, an alert sentinel there for some while past, was 
Waiting to greet him. 

“Oh, poor fellow!” sympathized Mr. Lock. “He 
do look ill!” 

“You needn’t trouble to feel sorry for ’im, Peter,” 
said Mr. Clark. “ ’E’s in that state ’e don’t know 
what’s ’appening, or whether it’s ’appening to ’im or 
somebody else. Got a hit of a ’eadache, ain’t you, sir ?” 
he bawled at the passenger. 

“Oh!” groaned the sufferer, making feeble gestures 
with his hands and showing the yellows of his eyes. 
“Oh!” he moaned again, and would have collapsed had 
not Mr. Clark passed a supportive arm round him. 

“There you are, Peter. How’s that ?” said Mr. Clark, 
with something of a showman’s pride. “Give me a 
hand to get ’im out of the boat and up on to the quay. 
All O.K., I s’pose?” he added, enigmatically. 

Mr. Lock nodded. 

“She’s going to ’ave tea with ’Orace’s missis, and she’s 
there now. She’s been up to the station twice to see 
if a Mr. Briblett ’ad arrived, but there was no trace 
of ’im.” 

“Briblett,” murmured the passenger, dazedly. “That’s 
my name. Don’t—oh, don’t bother me! I’m ill— ill!” 

“ ’Orace ’as kept out of ’er way all the time, in case 
some one might ’ave seen ’im up at the station this 


CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


71 


morning/’ whispered Mr. Lock. “She might begin to 
smell a rat before the bomb goes off, if she starts put¬ 
ting questions to ’im.” 

With a certain inconsiderate vigour the two friends 
half-lifted, half-dragged Mr. Briblett from the boat and 
assisted him up the steps to the quay. 

“A drop o’ brandy is the only thing to do this poor 
gent any good,” prescribed Mr. Lock, producing a flask. 

The stranger, although in a comatose condition, 
proved true to his lifelong traditions, and feebly waved 
the stimulant aside. 

“Oh, well,” said Mr. Lock, “if ’e won’t drink it, 
p’r’aps the smell of it might do ’im good!” 

Thus speaking, he delicately sprinkled Mr. Briblett’s 
shoulder with a few drops of the spirit, and then very 
fraternally shared the remainder with Mr. Clark. 

“And now off we goes!” directed Mr. Lock, and, 
supported by the two sailormen, the cadaverous Mr. 
Briblett tottered forward on two swerving, unstable 
legs. Closed were Mr. Briblett’s eyes, and the expres¬ 
sion on his face was one of pained indifference to all 
mundane affairs. 

By quiet side-streets was Mr. Briblett conducted to 
the neighbourhood of the little shop in Bore Street. 
Rounding a corner, the trio at last reached that em¬ 
porium. Mr. Lock remembered to knock Mr. Briblett’s 
hat off for him, retrieving it with sundry muddy ad¬ 
hesions, and replacing it on the sufferer’s head at a 
rakish angle. 

Then the door of Mr. Dobb’s shop flew open, the three 
lurched over the threshold, and Mr. Dobb quickly 
flitted in after them from nowhere. A moment later 
Mr. Clark and Mr. Lock were exhaustedly mopping 
their foreheads, and their burden, unceremoniously 


7 2 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


dumped into a chair, was lolling back in his seat, too 
indisposed even for protest at his treatment. 

“Good gracious, whatever-” began Horace’s 

spouse, appearing in vast surprise at the inner door. 

Mr. Lock, perceiving a second female rising from a 
chair in the back parlour, began to speak loudly and 
rapidly. 

“We’ve just found this chap lying ’elpless at the 
corner of the road,” he stated. “We brought ’im ’ere 
because ’e said ’e wanted to find a Mrs. Jackson, sir, 
and we thought that p’r’aps you might know the good 
lady. Though whether she’d care to admit to knowing 
him, I shouldn’t like to say, her being a most respec¬ 
table lady, by all accounts.” 

“ ’E must ’ave been drinking the ’ole of the day!” 
observed Mr. Clark, in tones of righteous contempt. 
“I see ’im myself go into the Molly Sailors,’ and the 
“Blue Lion,’ and the ‘Cutlass and Cannon’.” 

“I see ’im myself this morning,” said Horace. “I 
see him come out of the station, and I thought ’e looked 
a pretty queer fish. ’E come straight out of the station 
and went into the ‘Railway Inn.’ ” 

“I see ’im leave the ‘Flag and Pennant’ at dinner¬ 
time,” contributed Mr. Lock. “ ’E left there to go to 
the ‘Royal George’.” 

“Brandy, too!” intoned Mr. Clark, sepulchrally. 
“You just bend down and sniff. If you can’t smell 
brandy, I’ll-” 

Mr. Briblett, raising his head with extreme difficulty, 
partly opened his eyes. 

“Where am I ?” he demanded, weakly. “I’m—I’m 
not at all well! I feel ill—very ill!” 

“So I should think!” concurred Mr. Lock. “And 
the language he was using!” 




CIRCUMSTANTIAL EVIDENCE 


73 


“Said ’e’d backed three winners ont of five yesterday, 
and didn’t care if it snowed pink!” supplied Mr. Clark. 

“Wanted us to ’ave a game of ’apenny nap with ’im 
on the steps of the Town Hall,” added Mr. Lock. 

“Said Vd come down to see about a ’air-dressing 
business, but it could go to—but ’e wasn’t going to 
trouble!” stated Mr. Clark. 

As one existing on a plane of complete isolation, the 
stricken Mr. Briblett rose unsteadily to his feet. Clutch¬ 
ing at the back of his chair, he swayed delicately a while, 
and then sat down again. 

“I—I’d like to go to sleep,” he announced. “I want 
to go to sleep! I want to lie down! Oh, I feel so 
queer! That boat, drifting out to sea-” 

“Boat—sea!” cried Mr. Clark, readily. “There you 
are! Delirious, and no wonder! Raving—raving! 
What a ’orrible hexample for all right-minded men!” 

There was a little wait. Then Mrs. Jackson, coming 
out of a sort of trance, pushed past her hostess and 
stepped through the doorway of the back parlour. For 
three long seconds she stared at Mr. Briblett, and then, 
drawing a deep breath, she shrilly began to take the 
predominant part in the conversation. . . . 

Five minutes later Mr. Dobb, Mr. Clark, and Mr. 
Lock were standing some streets away, dazedly fanning 
their brows. 

“ ’Ow the dooce was I to know ?” whispered Mr. 
Dobb, brokenly. “ ’Ow the dooce was I to know the 
chap would be so punctual as to be too early for the 
hexpress and come straight along to see Mrs. Jackson at 
’er ’ome?” 

His hearers shook their heads in confession of in¬ 
ability to answer the question. 

“And ’ow the dooce was I to know,” continued Mr. 



74 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Dobb, bitterly, “that she’d asked this other chap to 
come down and ’elp ’er with ’er business affairs, now 
’e’d got back to England after fifteen years in the 
Colonies, and never been to Shore’aven before to see 
’er? ’Ow the dooce was I to know? . . . Why, I 
didn’t even know she’d got a brother!” 


EPISODE IV 


BLACK CATS AKE ALWAYS LUCKY 

I T had been a day thickly veined and marbled with 
emotions for the little gronp of men who, aforetime, 
had in some measure controlled the sea-going vagaries 
of that decrepit old barque, the “Jane Gladys/’ For, 
that day, the “Jane Gladys” had ceased to he a ship 
dowered with an imposing collection of virtues per¬ 
ceptible only to the auctioneer, and had become but 
so much old wood and rusting iron to he exploited by 
the speculative marine-store dealer who hazarded the 
highest price for her unlovely hulk. 

This distressful climax in the nautical career of the 
“Jane Gladys” was not allowed to go unwitnessed by 
those who had so long lived and thrived amid the sin¬ 
ister shadows of her ill-repute as a barque that was 
the natural home of venal duplicities. The erstwhile 
crew of the “Jane Gladys,” those established confed¬ 
erates in mercenary plot and counterplot, had rallied 
to watch the transfer of their stronghold into alien and 
unsympathetic ownership, and, in the untroubled throng 
about the auctioneer, they stood as figures thrust apart 
from their fellow-men by the stern arm of Tragedy. 

Captain Peter Dutt was there, his countenance a 
very show-case of mournful reminiscence as he gazed 
upon his late command, although he had retired ashore 
on a comfortable pension, and had already taken to 
bragging about his extraordinary prowess as an amateur 

75 


76 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


grower of vegetables. That venerable and corpulent 
amphibian, Mr. Samuel Clark, was there, too, having 
contrived to evade for a while his present duties as 
ferryman across Shorehaven Harbour in order to attend 
this dismal chapter in the history of the vessel upon 
which he had served for so many years. And Mr. 
Horace Dobb, who formerly graced the cook’s galley 
of the doomed ship, was also in attendance in the great 
glory of garb which was explained and justified by 
the fact that he had married a widow and a snug second¬ 
hand business at one fortunate sweep. 

But, as may be inferred, the regrets of Captain Dutt, 
of Mr. Clark, and of Mr. Dobb were almost entirely 
retrospective, for their daily bread was assured. The 
future was firm ground for their feet to tread, and their 
woeful deportment had therefore merely a sentimental 
value. Far more earnest and practical was the grief 
at the passing of the “Jane Gladys” of the two remain¬ 
ing members of her old crew, Mr. Peter Lock and Mr. 
Joseph Tridge. 

Despite the assiduity with which these two gentlemen 
had of late pointed out to the great god Luck ways 
by which he might help them, that fickle deity had 
proved himself singularly unresponsive. And this 
meant that neither Mr. Lock nor Mr. Tridge had any 
attractive prospects to solace them for the loss of their 
employment on the “Jane Gladys.” 

By personal inquiry they had discovered that no 
master mariner was prepared to risk the morale of his 
crew by importing into the fo’c’sle anyone who had 
been even remotely connected with the “Jane Gladys,” 
nor was a task ashore obtainable when once they had 
mentioned the only references they could give. 

True, Mr. Dobb had promised them his favour, but, 


BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 77 


so far, nothing had come of it save the abortive at¬ 
tempt to procure employment for Mr. Tridge as a 
hairdresser. Kot that there was any question as to 
Mr. Dohb’s sincerity of purpose, for, in projecting phi¬ 
lanthropies for his two unfortunate shipmates, he was 
largely considering his own interests. “Strictly Busi¬ 
ness!” was the self-chosen motto that controlled Mr. 
Dobb's energies in every direction, and always there 
was present in his mind the idea that profitable dis¬ 
posal of stock from the shop in Fore Street might 
skilfully be accelerated by the placing of his old ac¬ 
complices of the “Jane Gladys” in strategic situations 
about the town. 

But, apart from securing Mr. Samuel Clark his 
present job, Mr. Dobb's efforts had hitherto been negli¬ 
gible in result, and now, of those who mourned the 
end of the “Jane Gladys,” none mourned her with more 
genuine feeling or with a greater sense of personal 
bereavement than Mr. Lock and Mr. Tridge, for others 
were only mourning for memories, while they were 
mourning a lost home. 

Gradually, however, as the day had worn on, they 
had struggled with and overcome their melancholy, 
mounting, indeed in the end to a flippant hilarity which 
fitted but incongruously with the gravity of their pros¬ 
pects. 

But this was not till the day was nearing its close. 
The early afternoon had been a space of sighs and 
doleful head-shakings, for, at the close of the sale, Cap¬ 
tain Dutt had led his old subordinates into the “Turk's 
Head,” and here they had all spoken so wistfully and 
reverently about the “Jane Gladys” that the landlady 
had wondered how one of them could have come back 
wearing a green and pink tie from a funeral. 


78 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Mr. Horace Dobb, not averse from exhibiting the 
opulence of his new sphere in life to his former skipper, 
competed with that worthy for the honour of being 
prime host to the party. It was a challenge which 
Captain Dutt’s pride forbade him to refuse, and so 
round after round of refreshment was served, till by 
degrees a brisker mood descended upon the company. 

It was not till past tea-time that the party had begun 
to break up. Mr. Clark was the first to leave, having 
suddenly remembered that he had faithfully promised 
to return to the ferry at one o’clock sharp. And next 
Mr. Dobb went, pleading the calls of business, and pur¬ 
chasing a cigar at the bar as he left, with excellent 
effect. Eor Captain Dutt, after silently and disap¬ 
provingly considering such an action on an ex-cook’s 
part, at last stigmatized it as a kind of Socialism, and 
bought Mr. Lock and Mr. Tridge a cigar apiece to re¬ 
establish his prestige. 

Soon after, Captain Dutt reluctantly announced that 
he, too, must now depart, and Messrs. Tridge and Lock 
accompanied him to the nearest draper’s shop, where 
he sagely selected a bonnet to be presented to Mrs. 
Dutt the moment he got home. And when the skipper, 
already holding the hat-box before him in a propitia¬ 
tory manner, had passed from their sight round a 
corner, Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock looked hard and re- 
mindedly at each other, and then made search in their 
pockets. 

As a result, the one party produced a shilling and 
five pennies, and the other party disclosed a florin and 
a halfpenny; frank and unabashed confession admitted 
these coins to be “change” which the skipper had for¬ 
gotten to pick up amid the mental distractions of the 
afternoon. 


BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 79 


.Whereupon, congratulating themselves and each other 
on this presence of mind in face of opportunity, Mr. 
Lock and Mr. Tridge had retired to the tap-room of the 
“Royal William/’ and had there abundantly developed 
their policy of drowning dull care. 

By now the night was well advanced, and a fevered, 
reckless brilliance was illuminating Mr. Lock’s person¬ 
ality, lighting up all those manifold polite accomplish¬ 
ments of which he was a master. Thus, he had 
entertained the company with a series of imitations of 
bird-calls, and performed clever feats of legerdemain 
with corks and pennies and hats. 

Mr. Tridge was in complete eclipse. He had tried 
hard to be not ungenial, but his temperament was dif¬ 
ferent from Mr. Lock’s, and every minute of revelry 
only found him more and more subdued and morose. 
He had struggled against this psychological handicap, 
even to the extent of exhibiting to the company four 
or five styles of dancing with which he was familiar, 
but so morose and forbidding was his countenance as 
he jigged and gyrated that none dared claim his atten¬ 
tion by offering applause, so that when he sat down 
again it was amid complete and discouraging silence. 

Mr. Lock, however, shone still more effulgently as 
the evening progressed. Knotting his handkerchief into 
semblance of a doll, he affected that it was a wife 
and that he was its husband, and built up on these 
premises a highly diverting ventriloquial monologue. 
And, after that, he successfully introduced some farm¬ 
yard mimicry, and then got well away with card tricks. 

Appreciative, and even enthusiastic, were Mr. Lock’s 
audience, and none was more enthusiastic or apprecia¬ 
tive than the plump, fresh-faced little landlord of the 
“Royal William.” Hot once, nor twice, but thrice, did 


80 


"STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


lie pay tribute to Mr. Lock’s powers in the medium 
most gratifying to that artist, and his flow of hospi¬ 
tality ceased only when a big and stern-visaged lady 
came presently and stood behind the bar at his side. 
And, thereafter, the licensee of the "Royal William” 
took, as it were, but a furtive and subsidiary interest 
in Mr. Lock’s entertainment; while the lady eyed the 
performance with a cold hostility which was inimical 
to true art. 

And whether it was that Mr. Lock grew a little 
flustered under her malign regard, or whether it was 
that he sought to sting the landlord into revolt against 
domestic oppression, the fact remains that he began to 
intersperse his card tricks with humorous, but inflam¬ 
matory, remarks bearing on the subject of domineering 
wives and too submissive husbands. 

It is possible that the landlord of the "Royal Wil¬ 
liam” derived amusement from these sallies. Certainly 
his eyes gleamed at each thrust, and more than once 
he turned away to conceal a grin, but he was too craven 
to exhibit open hilarity at Mr. Lock’s satires. The 
landlady, however, did not hesitate to betray her feel¬ 
ings in the matter, and thus it was that, at the tail 
of an amusing anecdote of domestic tyranny, Mr. Lock 
found himself confronted with a stern and acidulated 
request to sit down and keep quiet unless he wished to 
find himself in trouble. 

Mr. Lock, a little nonplussed, glanced at the land¬ 
lord to enlist his support. The landlord’s gaze was 
apologetic but unhelpful. Mr. Lock looked around 
among his admirers, but their demeanour had become 
absent and constrained. Mr. Lock turned and regarded 
Mr. Tridge; Mr. Tridge was wrapped in his own sable 


BLACK CATS ABE ALWAYS LUCKY 81 


meditations. Pettishly, Mr. Lock flung down the pack 
of cards and sulked in a corner. 

The landlady, having thus suppressed unwelcome 
propaganda, indulged in a tight-lipped smile of triumph, 
and began a rinsing of glasses. The hush deepened 
in the room, developing an atmosphere which brought 
Mr. Lock back to remembrance of his own insecure 
position in the world, and this was rendered still more 
discomforting by what followed. For an amiable gen¬ 
tleman in a check coat, after twice clearing his throat, 
sought to re-establish light conversation, and asked the 
landlord whether there was yet any news of Ted. 

“I had a letter from him,” answered the landlord, 
coming out of a sort of thoughtful trance. 

“Thanking you for all the kindnesses you’ve showed 
him, I lay,” hazarded the checkered gentleman. 

“Ho,” returned the landlord, slowly. “ ’E only 
asked me to send on after him a pair of boots he’d 
left behind for mendin’.” 

“Fancy bothering about boots!” marvelled the other. 
“If my uncle died and left me a greengrocery shop-” 

“And a nice little business, too, by all accounts,” 
struck in an individual in a mackintosh. 

“Ay, by his accounts,” agreed the landlord. “If 
half he said was true, he won’t have to do any more 
billiard-marking and odd-jobbing.” 

“Hot while the money lasts, at any rate,” said the 
man in the mackintosh. “Have you got anyone to 
take his place yet?” 

The landlord, shaking his head, replied that he had 
not yet found a successor to Ted. Billiard-markers, 
he added, were scarce; people who desired employment 
as such were, as a rule, of one or two unsatisfactory 
classes, knowing either too little or too much. 



82 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Mr. Lock, assimilating this talk, lifted his eyes and 
peered as it were through the mists of his troubles. 
Here, obviously, was a vacancy going, and one which 
he was well qualified to fill, for his knowledge of the 
billiard table was neither elementary nor academic. A 
post as a marker and odd-job man at the “Royal Wil¬ 
liam” appealed with equal force to his temperament 
and his talents. He could conceive of no form of em¬ 
ployment more compatible with his desires. He almost 
groaned with mortification at the thought that he had 
allowed a faux pas to ruin his chances of so delectable 
a situation. 

None the less, he determined to make sure that his 
opportunity was indeed irrevocably lost, and, to that 
end, when the landlady had temporarily quitted the 
apartment, he sidled up to the host of the “Royal 
William,” and put a blunt inquiry to him. 

“No chance whatever!” answered that worthy, re¬ 
gretfully shaking his head. 

“You’ll find me just the sort of chap you want,” 
pleaded Mr. Lock. 

“I’ve no doubt of it,” accepted the landlord. “If 
it was only me what had the say, you could start to¬ 
morrow. I don’t mind admitting straight to your face 
that I’ve took to you. You’ve got a civil, well-bred, 
amoosin’ way with you. You’d get on like a house afire 
with the gents in the billiard-room. But-” 

He shook his head again, sighed, and left the ellipsis 
to carry its own implication. 

“The missis, eh?” said Mr. Lock, sadly. 

“The missis,” agreed the landlord. 

“I suppose it ’ud be no good my trying to-” 

“It ’ud be no good your trying anything!” inter¬ 
rupted the landlord, with conviction. “You can bet 




BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 83 


she’s got her knife into you, and you can bet nothing 
’ud please her more than to twist it round like a cork¬ 
screw.” 

“Well, if I had a job here,” contended Mr. Lock, 
“she’d have a lot more chances to twist it.” 

“Look here, I’d give you the job if I dared, but I 
dare not, and that’s flat and honest,” said the landlord, 
earnestly. “I daren’t! See? That’s how it is—I 
daren’t! But here she comes; you can ask her about 
it, if you like.” 

The landlady, returning, bent a gaze of extreme dis¬ 
pleasure on both Mr. Lock and her husband at finding 
them in commune. Mr. Lock, studying her counte¬ 
nance but the briefest while, turned away. 

“I don’t think it matters,” he remarked. 

Twenty minutes later the law’s exigency emptied the 
“Royal William.” The fresh air outside immediately 
had a restorative effect on Mr. Lock’s spirits, giving 
back to him his normal buoyancy, so that he shed his 
worries like a mantle, and became again his gay and 
debonair self, Mr. Tridge, however, had come to a 
slow and obstinate truculency of mood, and avowed 
an open antagonism to all mankind. 

And this divergency of outlook led to an unfortunate 
sequel, for, as they made their way back to the ship, 
which was only to continue as their home until the 
formalities of her sale had been completed, a black cat 
shot across their path, and Mr. Lock gleefully hailed 
its transit as a fortunate omen. 

“Black cats are always lucky!” declared Mr. Lock, 
with elation. 

“You’re a liar!” churlishly declared Mr. Tridge. 

“But they are!” insisted Mr. Lock. 

“And I’ll prove you’re a liar!” cried Mr. Tridge, 


84 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


irately, and forthwith struck Mr. Lock a grevious blow 
on the right eye. 

“ ’Ere—steady!” shouted Mr. Lock. 

“ ’Oo are you giving orders to V ’ bellowed Mr. 
Tridge, in high passion, and straightway smote Mr. 
Lock’s left eye. “Now do you think black cats are 
always lucky ?” 

Mr. Lock, sitting down on a convenient doorstep, 
pressed his palms to his eyes, too engrossed in a species 
of private astronomy to reply to Mr. Tridge’s question. 
Mr. Tridge, as one who had creditably sustained the 
truth of his assertions, cocked his head proudly and 
walked on. Mr. Lock, recovering after a while, followed 
him with marked caution, nor did he attempt reprisals. 
But this magnanimity was less because he knew that 
no one would be more surprised and apologetic on the 
morrow over the occurrence than Mr. Tridge, than 
because Mr. Tridge was altogether a larger and more 
powerful man than Mr. Lock. 

Mr. Tridge, achieving the “Jane Gladys” in grim 
solitude, made his simple preparations for slumber, 
and lay down in his bunk with a sigh of weary content. 
He was fast asleep ere Mr. Lock ventured down to the 
fo’c’sle and wooed repose. 

* * * * * 

“ ’Strewth!” cried Mr. Tridge, in utter amazement, 
waking next morning. 

Mr. Lock, who had just risen reluctantly to dress, 
turned an inquiring gaze on his shipmate. 

“Now what is it?” he asked, petulantly. 

“ ’Strewth!” exclaimed Mr. Tridge again, staring 
incredulously at the polychromatic setting of Mr. Lock’s 



BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 85 


eyes. “Peter, you must ’ave been a-going it last 
night!” he added, with intense conviction. “My 
word!” 

“Me? Ko worse than you!’ 7 denied Mr. Lock. 

“You must ’ave got to scrapping/ 7 surmised Mr. 
Tridge. “Did you win or lose ? 77 

“What do you mean ? 77 sourly questioned Mr. Lock. 
“I never scrapped with no one. I was—I was imitating 
canaries. Canaries don’t scrap. 77 

“ 7 Ow did you get them two awful big black eyes, 
then ? 77 wonderingly queried Mr. Tridge. 

“Black eyes ? 77 murmured Mr. Lock, perplexed. 
“Black eyes ? 77 

“Black and red and green and yaller and blue and 
purple and horange, 77 supplemented Mr. Tridge. 

Mr. Lock crossed to the little mirror which hung on 
the shelf. 

“So I 7 ave! 77 he said, in blank surprise. “So I 
? ave! I thought it was only the front part of my 
’eadache ! 77 

“Two real beauties ! 77 declared Mr. Tridge. “You 
must 7 ave got nasty over something, Peter. Why 
didn’t you leave it to me to do your scrapping for you, 
like we always does ? I shouldn’t 7 ave got ’it like that, 
you can bet!” 

Mr. Lock, disturbed by the discovery, sat down on the 
edge of his bunk and shook his head, an action which 
caused him such discomfort that he lay down 
again. 

“Can’t you remember 7 ow it ’appened, Peter ?” 
asked Mr. Tridge, with genuine sympathy. “If you 
can remember the chap I’ll step along and square up 
with 7 im for you, 77 he promised. 

“I’ve been trying to remember,” said Mr. Lock. 


86 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“I don’t think it was a scrap, though. I believe it 
was a hexaplosion somewhere. I seem to remember a 
lot of sparks.” 

“Now I come to think of it, I seem to remember a 
fire or something,” murmured Mr. Tridge, after mental 
gropings. “Or was it something to do with the ’arbour- 
master ?” 

The twain lay silent, striving to recollect the cause 
of the alteration to Mr. Lock's countenance, and they 
were still silently seeking to establish the origin of the 
disaster when Mr. Horace Dobb made his appearance 
in the fo’c’sle. 

“Well, did you ’ave a good time last-” he began, 

and then broke off at sight of Mr. Lock’s contused 
features. “Ah, I see you did!” he ended, sapiently. 

“Both of ’em! That’s what I can’t understand, 
mused Mr. Tridge. “Both of ’em! ’E must ’ave been 
carrying something in his arms at the time, that’s the 
only way I can hexplain it.” 

“’Ow did it ’appen, Peter?” asked Mr. Dobb, 
curiously. 

“I can’t remember yet whether it was a man or the 
hact of providence,” confessed Mr. Lock. “I’ve got a 
headache and can’t think clear.” 

“Pity,” commented Mr. Dobb. “I’ve come down 
to see you on a little matter of business, but if you ain’t 
equal to-” 

“Talking business always clears my ’ead,” said Mr. 
Lock, eagerly. “Have you found me a job, then ?” 

“Pound you a road leading to a job,” amended 
Mr. Dobb. “I can put you on it, but you must walk 
up it yourself. ’Ow do you like the hidea of going 
around with a milk-cart ?” 

“Not much,” frankly returned Mr. Lock. 




BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 87 


“It’ll do yon all right to go on with/’ urged Mr. 
Dobb. “You’ve got to find something to do, ain’t 
you ?” 

“Peter Lock in a milk-cart!” marvelled Mr. Tridge. 
“A TTu7&-cart! Don’t that just show you what a rum 
•world this is ?” 

“I shan’t half get chaffed!” foretold Mr. Lock. 

“You needn’t keep it longer than it takes you to find 
a better job,” pointed out Mr. Dobb. “Meanwhile, 
you’ll be remaining in Shore’aven ’ere, and we shall all 
be in touch with each other, like what we’ve always 
planned on.” 

“But a milk-cart!” protested Mr. Lock. “Now, 
if it ’ad been a wine and spirit shop-” 

“Think of all the pretty gals you’ll be ’anding in 
cans to!” recommended Mr. Dobb. “Everything’s 
got its bright side.” 

“Come to think of it, it ain’t such a bad job,” agreed 
Mr. Lock, brightening. “When do I start ?” 

“You’ve got to get the job first,” Mr. Dobb reminded 
him. “You’ll ’ave to play up for it very careful and 
polite and artful, and that’s why I thought it was a 
better chance for you than for Joe, there. There’s a 
old geezer, a Mrs. Golightly, what you’ll ’ave to be 
hextra special hattentive to. ’Er ’usband runs a 
grocery shop, and she’s going to start the dairy business 
as a side-line in a week or two. You play your cards 
right, and the job is yours for the asking. You see, 
you’re going to do the old geezer a favour before she 
knows what you’re after, and that’s always a big ’elp.” 

Mr. Dobb paused and pointed impressively at Mr. 
Lock. 

“You’re one of the finest amytoor animal doctors 
in England,” he told him. 



88 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Ho, am I ?” said Mr. Lock, casually. “First 
I’ve heard of it.” 

“Same ’ere till a hour ago,” returned Mr. Dobb. 
“Only I ’appened to be talking with ’er, and one thing 
led to another, and then I see you just ’ad to be good at 
animal doctoring.” 

“Why ?” asked Mr. Lock. 

“Why, because you’re going to cure ’er pet cat of 
fits for ’er.” 

“Am I ?” remarked Mr. Lock. “ ’Ow do I* do 
that?” 

“That’s for you to decide,” answered Mr. Dobb, 
easily. “It’ll be the beginning of your job in the milk 
line. It’s lucky she’s got a pet cat with fits, ain’t it? 
It’s a black cat, too. Black cats,” he stated, dog¬ 
matically, “are always lucky.” 

At mention of these words a swift tremor coursed 
through Mr. Lock’s frame, and he sat up in his bunk, 
staring hard at Mr. Tridge, and gradually raising a rigid 
forearm to point accusingly at him. A similar start 
of surprise pulsed through Mr. Tridge, and after a long, 
horrified stare at Mr. Lock’s damaged optics, he sud¬ 
denly turned on his mattress and guiltily drew his 
blankets over his head. Mr. Dobb, viewing this by-play 
in surprise, offered the theory that his friends were 
rehearsing for employment as kinema actors. 

“I know who done it now!” cried Mr. Lock, bitterly. 
“And so does he! It was you talking about black cats, 
’Orace, what done it!” 

“I done what by talking about black cats?” de¬ 
manded the mystified Mr. Dobb. 

Mr. Lock irately made the situation clear to Mr. 
Dobb, who, as soon as he had regained composure, 
assumed the role of peacemaker so successfully that ere 


BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 89 


long Mr. Tridge was encouraged to emerge again from 
beneath his blankets and promise all manner of recom¬ 
pense to Mr. Lock at some future date when liberality 
should be more convenient. This understanding reached, 
Mr. Dobb returned to the object of his call. 

“Soon as ever Mrs. Golightly told me about ’er cat 
’aving fits,” said Mr. Dobb, “I thought at once of you, 
Peter. Remember that cat you cured of hiccups at 
Teignmouth ?” 

“I said it was cured,” shamelessly corrected Mr. 
Lock “I never went back to see once Pd got the 
money for it.” 

“Anyway, you can start to cure this old geezer’s 
cat for ’er, can’t you? You’ve got till next Saturday 
aboard this old boat, ’aven’t you? Well, suppose you 
get the cat and bring it ’ere, and keep it with you till 
then ?” 

“I see,” said Mr. Lock, readily. “Then I can take 
it back to ’er and say I’m sorry, but I’m leaving the 
town to find work elsewhere; and what a pity it is, 
seeing that the cat’s so much better already under my 
treatment.” 

“That’s the hidea, Peter!” concurred Mr. Dobb. 
“The old gal is regularly wrapped up in that cat. She 
couldn’t make more fuss of it if she tried. And ’er 
’usband is very fond of it, too. It’s more like a nursery 
than anything else when that cat comes into the room, 
and to ’ear ’em both sit round hencouraging it to eat 
its meals! It’s like a baby spending a day with its 
grandparents!” 

“They’ll be very grateful if I can cure it of fits,” 
said Mr. Lock, thoughtfully; “and if I ’aven’t had time 
enough to do it-” 

“They’ll pretty well offer you that job in the milk 



90 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


line without being asked, simply to keep you near your 
patient,” prophesied Mr. Dobb. “You dress yourself 
now and come along with me, and you’ll see what a 
simple, easy affair it is to a smart chap like you.” 

“See ?” said Mr. Lock severely to Mr. Tridge. 
“Black cats are always lucky, after all!” 

Half an hour later Mr. Lock, furnished with a very 
circumstantial story about a carriage accident to account 
for the spectacular state of his features, had the felicity 
of being introduced to Mrs. Golightly and her husband 
by Mr. Horace Dobb. The conventions of etiquette 
thus fulfilled, Mr. Dobb came straight to the point of 
the business in hand. 

“Peter’s going to do you a favour and cure that ’ere 
cat of yours, ain’t you, Peter ?” he observed. 

“All being well, yes,” said Mr. Lock, modestly. 

“If you can’t cure it, no one can!” gushed Mr. Dobb. 
“You’re a wonder at curing animals, Peter, and you 
knows that’s true. Remember that dog you cured for 
the dook ?” 

“Which one ?” asked Mr. Lock, carelessly. 

“The—the blood’ound,” answered Mr. Dobb. 

“I meant, which dook ?” said Mr. Lock. 

“The—the one what give you the gold watch and 
chain,” replied Mr. Dobb. “Show ’em to Mrs. 
Golightly, Peter; she’d like to see ’em.” 

Mr. Lock’s hand made a movement towards his waist¬ 
coat, and then checked itself. 

“I forgot,” he said, with a smile. “I left it at the 
bank in London, along with all them other testimonials 
and medals I’ve got for animal doctoring. A chap 
what lives a travelling, seafaring life,” he explained to 
the lady, “needs to be careful of his property.” 



BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 91 


“Yes, indeed,” she assented. “But I wonder you 
don’t give up the sea and settle down ashore.” 

“So ’e means to one day,” struck in Mr. Dobb. “ ’E’s 
going to give up seafaring and animal-curing, ain’t you, 
Peter, and settle down quiet and peaceful ashore ?” 

“In a nice, quiet, respectable job, when I find one to 
suit me,” said Mr. Lock. 

“I wonder if you’d-” began the lady, and then 

paused. “Perhaps you wouldn’t mind seeing poor 
Jonathan now ?” 

Mr. Lock professing readiness to interview his pro¬ 
spective patient, both Mr. and Mrs. Golightly bustled 
from the room, making loud and endearing appeal to 
the stricken feline to come and be shown to the kind 
gentleman. Left alone, Mr. Lock and Mr. Dobb winked 
very pleasantly at each other. 

“It’s as good as yours, that job is, Peter,” said Mr. 
Dobb. “She nearly offered it to you just now of ’er 
own accord. Did you ’ear ’er? You’ve made a ’it 
there, Peter, my boy! Keep it up!” 

Mrs. Golightly, returning presently with an undis¬ 
tinguished-looking black cat in her arms, postponed 
consideration of its condition while she delivered an 
affectionate address on the manifold virtues of the 
animal. Mr. Lock, after gravely listening to the tale of 
so much excellence, plainly enhanced his favour with the 
good dame by remarking that the cat reminded him very 
much of a similar animal, the property of a countess, 
which he had cured of sunstroke in two days. He added 
that the countess’s gratitude was most touching and 
substantial. 

“Oh, dear!” sighed Mrs. Golightly. “I do ’ope 
you ain’t going to charge me very, very much for curing 
Jonathan! I ain’t a countess, not by no means.” 



92 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS’’ 


“I shouldn’t dream of charging you anything, 
ma’am,” replied Mr. Lock. “I’ve already took a 
great fancy to this cat, for one thing, and for another, 
I believe we all ought to do folks good turns whenever 
we get the chance.” 

He now bent professionally over the cat, felt all the 
joints in its tail in a highly technical manner, and then 
gravely studied its eyes. Mr. and Mrs. Golightly, 
watching him, awaited his verdict in breathless suspense. 

“He can and shall be cured,” said Mr. Lock. “if,” 
he added, “I can do it in the time.” 

Within the hour the afflicted animal had taken up 
temporary residence on board the “ Jane Gladys.” 
Sundry dainties which had, at Mr. Lock's instruction, 
been secured for the patient’s diet served as an excellent 
dinner that day for two impecunious mariners. An 
indignant black cat found that “rest and quiet” were 
terms interpreted on the “Jane Gladys” by enforced 
seclusion in a sea-chest while the human occupants of 
the fo’c’sle enjoyed a protracted siesta after their meal. 

Indeed, it was only when a late tea had restored full 
energy to Mr. Lock that he recollected the needs of his 
patient. A foray in the galley was rewarded with the 
discovery of a red herring in a dark corner, and, armed 
with this booty, Mr. Lock prepared to inaugurate an 
altered course of dietetics for his patient. 

Cautiously he raised the lid of the chest, but not 
cautiously enough; for the black cat, wearied of soli¬ 
tary confinement, slipped through the opening, and, 
easily dodging the convulsive clutch of Mr. Lock and 
the outstretched hands of the interested Mr. Tridge, 
it streaked out of the fo’c’sle and up on to the deck. 
Mr. Lock’s ill-timed recriminations of Mr. Tridge’s 
clumsiness caused a regrettable delay in pursuit, and 


BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 93 


when at last the two sailormen had reached the deck, 
the black cat had completely vanished in the darkness. 

Frenzied and exhaustive search was made, only to 
be abandoned in the end when sundry sportive souls on 
the wharf took to jocund mimicry of the enticing calls 
made by Mr. Lock and his companion. Loudly did 
Mr. Lock bewail so inauspicious and swift a termination 
to his high hopes of the conduct of a milk-cart. 

And moodily did he make his way to Fore Street, 
there to seek Mr. Dobb in his home, and tell him of 
this underhand trick which the cat had played upon 
one who had desired to deal benevolently by it. 

“Well, it’s no good crying over spilt milk-carts,” pro¬ 
nounced Mr. Dobb, when his visitor began to sorrow 
over the wreck of his ambitions. “You’ve got to be 
up and doing—that’s all. As long as that cat don’t 
turn up at its old ’ome, you’ve always got a chance of 
finding it again somewhere.” 

“Suppose we don’t find it, though ?” asked Mr. Lock. 

“Things might be worse even then,” said Mr. Dobb. 
“After all,” he hinted, “one black cat is very like 
another. And they can’t talk and give things away, 
can they?” 

“Ko,” agreed Mr. Lock, immensely relieved. “And, 
besides, a cat that’s been taken away to be cured of 
fits ain’t hardly likely to look quite the same when it 
comes back again, is it ?” 

A nod of perfect understanding passed between these 
two keen tacticians, and Mr. Dobb promised that he 
would take care to call frequently at the residence of 
the Golightlys to ascertain whether Jonathan was con¬ 
trolled by homing instincts sufficiently serviceable to 
lead him back to his mistress. In that deplorable event, 
it was decided that action must depend upon the in- 


94 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


spiration of the moment. In the meanwhile, Mr. Loch: 
expressed his firm intention of securing another black 
cat from somewhere, and making its escape a matter 
of impossibility this time. 

And thus it was that Mr. Lock, going wistfully about 
the environs of the harbour at a late hour that night 
at last managed to track down and capture an animal 
of the species and colour that he desired. He conveyed 
his protesting prisoner swiftly aboard the “Jane 
Gladys,” and there he extemporized for it a prison 
system from which not even a cat provided with a burg¬ 
lar’s kit and the ability to use it could have escaped. 

For three days did Mr. Lock keep close watch and 
ward over his captive. Mr. Dobb, on reconnoitring 
duty, was able to tell him that the vanished Jonathan 
had not yet put in an appearance at his home, and 
that the Golightlys were looking forward with the liveli¬ 
est emotions of thankfulness to the moment which should 
restore to them their pet cured of its ailment by Mr. 
Lock’s veterinary skill. 

“But s’pose,” put forward Mr. Tridge, one afternoon, 
in a pessimistic mood—“s’pose that that there first cat 
turns up at ’is old ’ome one day after you’ve got your 
other cat settled there. It’ll be awkward, won’t it ?” 

“Not a bit of it,” vaunted Mr. Lock. “I shall be 
working at the place by then, so it’s a ’undred to one 
that I shall catch sight of it first, and then there won’t 
be no fatted calf killed for the returned prodigal, you 
can bet. I shall just collar it and shove it in a sack 
and come down and have a look to see how the old 
harbour is getting on.” 

“Ah, but s’pose you ain’t on the spot?” persisted 
Mr. Tridge. “What ’appens then ?” 

“Why, I shall swear it can’t be their beloved Jona- 


BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 95 


than, because ’e’d never ’ave left my sight while I ’ad 
’im ’ere, so the new-comer must be a stray. Oh, I’ll 
manage them all right, don’t you fret!” 

Kext morning Mr. Lock arrayed himself in his best, 
shaved himself to a miracle of velvet smoothness, and 
brushed his hair with extraordinary interest, for he 
purposed now to restore the pseudo-Jonathan to its ex¬ 
pectant master and mistress, and to bring diplomacy 
to bear upon the securing of the coveted post of chap¬ 
erone to a milk-cart. 

“Pity my eyes don’t lose a bit of their colour,” he 
observed, studying his reflection in the glass. “They 
look just as black as they did when we first ’ad that 
little dispute, Joe.” 

“They look as if you might only ’ave got them last 
night,” agreed Mr. Tridge. “ ’Pon my soul, they makes 
me feel almost like a bad character myself, just to be 
talking to ’em.” 

Mr. Lock, recognizing the futility of wishes, dropped 
the subject and took up the imprisoned cat. Slipping 
it into a hamper, he set off up town with it, and speedily 
came to the home of the Golightlys. 

“ ’Ere’s you cat, ma’am,” he said to that lady, hand¬ 
ing the animal over to her. 

“My, that’s never our Jonathan!” cried the lady. 

“Don’t he look well ?” asked Mr. Lock, with enthu¬ 
siasm. “I reckon he’s more than half cured by now.” 

“But—but this is ever so much bigger than our dear 
old Jonathan,” objected the lady. “Bigger and—and 
stouter.” 

“That’s the treatment and diet I give ’im,” explained 
Mr. Lock. “It always ’as that effect on my patients. 
It puts on weight and improves their coat wonderful. 
Ah, I never grudged him nothing! The best of every- 


96 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


thing he’s had, even though I’ve ’ad to go short myself 
sometimes.” 

“Well, he certainly is wonderfully improved,” said 
the lady, gratefully. “I shouldn’t ’ardly have ever 
known ’im. And in that short time, too! ’Owever 
did you do it, young man ?” 

“Trade secret,” said Mr. Lock, promptly. 

“He—he don’t seem to take much notice of me,” 
said the lady, a little disappointedly. “Before he went 
away, when I used to speak to him, ’e’d look back at 
me and mew like a Christian; but now ’e don’t even 
seem to like me ’olding ’im.” 

“You’re a bit strange to ’im at present, that’s all,” 
Mr. Lock assured her. “ ’E’ll be loving and affection¬ 
ate to you again very soon. And, as for ’is fits—well, 
I can take my solemn gospel oath that he ain’t even 
had a attempt at one all the time ’e’s been in my charge.” 

“How splendid!” cried Mrs. Golightly. “I’m sure 
he looks heaps better. You must ’ave took good care 
of ’im.” 

“I did,” Mr. Lock asserted. “Never let him out of 
my sight for a single moment. Brushed and combed 
him three times a day, fed him on tid-bits, give him 
his physic regular with an oyster after it to take the 
taste of it out of his mouth, and used to sit by ’is side 
at night till he fell off to sleep.” 

“You have been good to him!” cried the lady, moved 
by such devotion. “I wish I could make it right with 
you, some’ow!” 

“I done it because I took a fancy to the cat,” said 
Mr. Lock, “and I don’t want no reward. I shall miss 
the old chap, though,” he went on, lowering his voice. 
“I’m sorry to part with him, for his sake as well as 
my own. If he could only have had a bit longer under 


BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 97 


my care, he’d ’ave been cured for good and all of them 
fits. As it is, there’s always the chance that they may 
come on after a while, and I’ll be far away by then.” 

“But—but can’t you stop here in Shorehaven?” 

“No, mum. I’ve got my living to earn, and there 
ain’t a job going here that would suit me. I want to 
give up the sea. I used to be a milkman afore I was 
a sailor, and naturally I’d like to take on the job of 
milkman again, only there ain’t no vacancies in this 
’ere town.” 

“That’s just where you’re wrong!” cried the lady, 
in high good humour. “I’m starting a dairy business 
here next week, and I’m looking out for a man to take 
the milk-round!” 

“Well, well,” breathed Mr. Lock, “if ever there was 
a coincidence-” 

He ceased abruptly, for sometimes Coincidence has 
two long arms and uses both simultaneously. Mr. Lock, 
gazing spellbound at the doorway, saw Mr. Golightly 
framed in it, and clasped in Mr. Golightly’s embrace 
;was a black cat. 

“Jonathan!” stated Mr. Golightly, simply. 

“What ?” screamed the lady. 

“Just found him outside the back door, mewing 
enough to break his heart,” said her husband. “Look 
at him! Covered in mud, half starved-” 

“That ain’t your cat!” denied Mr. Lock. “ ’E’s only 
a mangy old stray you’ve got ’old of. There’s your 
Jonathan in the fire-place there. Cured and improved 
out of all recognition.” 

Mrs. Golightly picked up both cats and set them side 
by side. 

“Jonathan!” she called, and the cat that Mr. Lock 
had brought foolishly strove to get up the chimney, 




98 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


while the other animal, uttering a half-plaintive, half- 
delighted mew, tottered forward to lick the lady's hand. 

“ ‘Never let him out of my sight’!” cried Mrs. 
Golightly. “‘Washed and brushed him every day! 
Fed him on all the best! Sat by ’im till ’e went 

off-’! ’Ere!” she ended, fiercely. “You go off— 

now—this minute! Else-” 

Mr. Lock, ever one to recognize defeat, turned to 
take his departure. Mrs. Golightly, retrieving the alien 
cat from the chimney, thrust it into the hamper. 

“’Ere, take your rubbish with you!'’ she ordered; 
and, thus encumbered, Mr. Lock took his departure. 

“Blest if I am so sure that black cats are always 

*/ 

lucky!” he murmured, dazedly. 

At the corner of the road he ran into Mr. Horace 
Dobb. Mr. Dobb was in a state of considerable ex¬ 
citement. 

“You ’aven’t left that cat at the Golightlys’ yet, 
then ?” he observed, with relief. And, taking Mr. Lock 
by the arm, eagerly dragged him forward. “Well, then, 
the Golightlys ’ave lost their second chance of a cat, 
that’s all! ’Ere, come on in ’ere!” he directed, turn¬ 
ing into the “Royal William.” 

The aggressive landlady and the cheerful little land¬ 
lord were behind the counter. At Mr. Dobb’s entry, 
they both turned expectantly towards him, and the se¬ 
verity of the landlady perceptively waned. 

“’Ere’s the young fellow I spoke about just now!” 
cried Mr. Dobb. “Look at the state of ’is eyes, and 
you can see I was telling the truth!” 

“And ’as ’e got it there in the basket?” asked the 
landlord, eagerly. 

“’E ’as!” declared Mr. Dobb, and, unfastening the 
lid of the hamper, he allowed its occupant to escape. 




BLACK CATS ARE ALWAYS LUCKY 99 


“That’s ’im!” cried the landlord, raptly. 

“That’s our dear, dear little lost one!” shrilled the 
lady, in happy agitation. 

“Well, you’re a trump!” declared the landlord, turn¬ 
ing to Mr. Lock. “This gent ’ere ’as been telling us 
all about it!” 

“Oh J” said Mr. Lock, lamely. 

“Yes, indeed,” answered the landlord. “We ’appened 
to mention to ’im that our cat was missing, and ’e told 
us ’ow ’e knew of a cat what ’ad been saved from tor¬ 
ture by a sailorman. There was a great big ’ulking 
chap and another chap ’ad got ’old of our cat,” nar¬ 
rated the landlord, “and you see ’em ill-treating it, and 
you interfered, and they knocked you about cruel, and 
give you two terrible black eyes-” 

“And they are terrible, too!” said the landlady, with 
a sympathetic shudder. “You must ’ave suffered, 
young man.” 

“I did, ma’am. I did!” 

“But you saved our pet!” cried the landlord. “You 
see, that gent there’s been telling us all about it! It 
come out quite by accident, to—we was talking about 
billiard-marking; that was what led up to it, some’ow. 
Anyway, you saved our cat, and me and my missis are 
very grateful to you for it. And you’ve been keeping 
it till you felt less knocked about, and then you were 
going to try and find its home! Well, you’re saved 
that trouble, anyway!” 

“From what I saw of you the other night,” confessed 
the landlady, “I should never have thought you could 
have behaved so noble.” 

Husband and wife now retired apart for a brief 
whispered colloquy. Within one minute of its conclu¬ 
sion, Mr. Lock had been offered and had accepted the 



100 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


vacant post of billiard-marker and odd-job man to the 
“Royal William”. . . . 

Late that same night, Mr. Tridge ceased undressing 
and looked across at Mr. Lock. 

“You’re right, Peter!” he admitted. “They are!” 


EPISODE V, 

A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 


F OE,” said Mr. Horace Dobb, coming out of a long 
meditative silence, “ ’ave you ever ’ad words with 
a prize-fighter ?” 

“Once,” admitted Mr. Joseph Tridge, “And only 
once! Never no more for me!” he ended, very defi¬ 
nitely. 

“What ’appened?” 

“Why, I started to ’ave words with ’im,” returned 
Mr. Tridge. 

“Well?” prompted Mr. Dobb. 

“That’s all,” stated Mr. Tridge, simply. 

“Did ’e ’it you back?” 

“Not ’alf, ’e didn’t !” 

“And what did you do ?” 

“Went ’ome in a cab,” succinctly supplied Mr. Tridge. 

Again silence prevailed in Mr. Dobb’s snug back 
parlour. Mr. Tridge, sitting respectfully upright in 
his seat, once more fixed a forlorn and rather anxious 
gaze on his host. The late cook to the “Jane Gladys,” 
untroubled by his old shipmate’s appealing visage, settled 
down more comfortably in his arm-chair and puffed 
in cosy rumination at the stump of a cigar. A clock, 
acquired by Mr. Dobb in the course of business, stood 
on the mantelshelf. From the facts that it had just 
struck eleven and that its dial registered a quarter to 
two, anyone thoroughly familiar with its idiosyncrasies 

101 


102 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


would have deduced that the correct hour of the even¬ 
ing was something between six and seven. 

Mr. Dobb, presently producing a penknife, impaled 
his cigar-stump on the point of its blade and thus pur¬ 
sued his smoke to its exceedingly bitter end. Still he 
forbore from speech, and at last Mr. Tridge, with a 
deep sigh of regret, rose to his feet. 

“Well, I may as well be going now,” he asserted, 
mournfully. “Good-night, ’Orace.” 

He crossed to the door, and there he halted. 

“And if I was you,” he announced, bitterly, “I should 
smaller the rest of that there seegar! You won’t lose 
none of it, then. And, besides, it can’t taste worse than 
it smells!” 

Mr. Dobb, in no wise irritated by this little ebullience 
of feeling, smiled up pleasantly at his visitor. 

“What’s your ’urry ?” asked Horace. “Come and sit 
down again! We ’aven’t finished ’alf our chat yet.” 

With marked readiness Mr. Tridge returned to his 
chair, contritely murmuring an apology for his impo¬ 
liteness. 

“That’s all right,” said Horace, handsomely. “See- 
gars is never quite right when other chaps is smoking 
’em. I’ve noticed that myself. Now, let me see, what 
were we talking about ?” 

“About me starting in a little ’air-dressing business 
of me own,” replied Mr. Tridge, leaning forward 
eagerly. 

“No, we wasn’t talking about that,” corrected Mr. 
Dobb. “You was.” 

“I’ve figgered it all out,” continued Mr. Tridge, un¬ 
deterred, “and for twenty quid I could get going. And 
I’d pay you your money back in instalments, and pay 
you interest at the rate of-” 



A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 103 


“I shan’t take no hinterest from you, Joe,” observed 
Mr. Dobb, with a kindly smile, “and I shan’t take no 
binstalments neither. In fact, I shan’t want no money 
back from you at all!” 

“Well, if ever there was a true pal-” gabbled Mr. 

Tridge, with the liveliest gratitude. “I always knew 
it! If ever there was a real friend in need-” 

“I shan’t want no money back from you at all, Joe,” 
interrupted Mr. Dobb, coldly, “because I shan’t let you 
’ave none to begin with. I shouldn’t dream of it!” 

“Well, of all the mean, ’ard-’earted, un’elpful, false 
friends-” exclaimed Mr. Tridge, in high vexation. 

“You go into the shop there, Joe,” directed Mr. 
Dobb, “and you’ll see my motter ’ung up large on the 
wall. ‘Strictly Business!’—that’s my guiding prin- 
cerple, and you knows it! Business is business, and 
friendship is friendship, and when you tries to mix 
’em you gets a little of each and not enough of both.” 

“But lending me twenty quid to start on my own 
with would be business,” contended Mr. Tridge. “I’d 
pay you back.” 

“I dare say you would,” retorted Mr. Dobb, scep¬ 
tically. “If you could. But s’pose the speckylation 
turned out a failure, eh? No, Joe, I ain’t going to 
risk my money, and there’s a end to it. Or, rather, 
there wont he a end of it. And now let’s change the 
subject and talk about something hinteresting.” 

“But—but—hut,” spluttered Mr. Tridge, wrathfully, 
“it was you what made me lose all my time learning 
’air-dressing! Cut and cut old Sam Clark’s ’air, I did, 
till it looked as if ’is ’ead ’ad been varnished! Practised 
clean shaving on Peter Lock till ’is chin was so sore 
’e ’ad to grow a beard! It was you that was going 





104 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


to get me settled as a ’air-dresser, you remember?’ 7 He 
sneered. 

“Yes, I remember, 77 confessed Mr. Dobb, flushing 
a little at the recollection. “Oh, well, mistakes will 
’appen,” he put forward, with an effort to be casual. 

“Mistakes did 7 appen, 77 amended Mr. Tridge. “And 
7 ere am I with the old Mane Gladys 7 sold from under 
me, and me the only one of 7 er crew out of a job. 
There’s Peter Lock in a snug billet, there’s old Sam 
a-ferrying fit to bust ’isself all day, there’s you married 
to a widow and ’er second- 7 and shop, and only me left 
out in the cold!’ 7 

“Well, and I want to see you settled, 77 declared Mr. 
Dobb. “When the four of us are well spaced about 
Shore’aven, we’ll be able to work some fine deals, bigger 
than ever we dreamed of on the old Mane Gladys. 7 77 

“Then why don’t you 7 elp me to settle? 77 demanded 
Mr. Tridge, not unreasonably. 

“ ’Eaven ’elps them what ’elps themselves, don’t for¬ 
get, Joe,” was Mr. Dobb’s pious reply. 

Impatiently Mr. Tridge rose again to his feet and 
stalked to the door. Again Mr. Dobb invited him to 
return to his seat and tarry longer. 

“I don’t say as I won’t 7 elp you to 7 elp yourself, Joe,” 
observed Mr. Dobb. “In fact, if you only wouldn’t 
be so ’asty, and would listen to what I 7 ave to say, 
you might feel sorry for all the things you’re trying 
to think of to say about me as you stands there. 77 

Mr. Tridge, with a demeanor nicely balanced between 
resentment and humility, once more sat down. 

“I ain’t forgot 7 ow you’re situated, Joe,” said Mr. 
Dobb, gently. “I’ve bore you in mind constant. An d 
I’ve been waiting for you to come and see me these 
last few days. I got a little matter to put before you, 


A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 105 


Joe, what ought to be good for twenty quid at least, 
if you cares to tackle it.” 

“Why didn’t you mention it before?” asked Mr. 
Tridge, suspiciously. 

“Well, I wasn’t quite sure ’ow you’d take it,” returned 
Mr. Dobb. “You see, there—there’s a certain amount 
of disgrace about it.” 

“If it brings in twenty quid,” said Mr. Tridge, 
frankly, “I shan’t think it disgraceful, whatever it is.” 

“And—and there’s a certain amount of suffering,” 
added Mr. Dobb, watching his friend narrowly. 

“Once I get me fingers on the twenty quid, I shall 
soon stop suffering,” asserted Mr. Tridge, cheerfully. 

“Well, you remember me asking you just now if 
you’d ever ’ad a quarrel with a prize-fighter ?” 

“Yes, I remember. But what’s that to- ’Ere, 

’strewth! ’Orace!” cried Mr. Tridge, in alarm. “I 
twig your game now! You’re wanting me to match 
against a prize-fighter! No, thanks!” he said, with 
the utmost firmness. “Once bit, twice shy!” 

“Wait a bit!” begged Mr. Dobb. “You ’aven’t ’eard 
what I’ve got to say!” 

“And don’t want to, either! Not if there’s a prize 
fight at the end of it! Not for fifty blessed quid! I’ve 
*ad some! No, thank you, ’Orace. I ain’t fighting no 
prize-fighters on the thin chance of getting a purse of 
twenty quid —if I win. Not me , ’Orace!” 

“But you won’t ’ark to what I say!” complained 
Mr. Dobb. 

“No, I won’t!” asseverated Mr. Tridge. “While 
I’ve got the senses I was born with, I'll ’ave nothing 
to do with prize-fighters, and that’s flat!” 

“You mean it ?” asked Horace. “That’s your last 
word ?” 




106 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“I do!” returned Mr. Tridge, in complete determina¬ 
tion. “It are!” 

Mr. Dobb shook his head a little perplexedly, and was 
clearly on the point of saying something further, when 
he changed his mind and frowned thoughtfully at the 
ceiling for some while. Mr. Tridge, with arms dog¬ 
gedly folded, stared at him in resolute opposition. 

“As a matter of fact, Joe,” said Mr. Dobb, at last, 
“you’re on quite the wrong tack. Prize-fighters ain’t 
got nothing to do with it.” 

“Then what did you drag ’em in for ?” countered 
Mr. Tridge. 

“I only wanted to see if you knew what kind of chaps 
prize-fighters was like to get into trouble with.” 

“Well, and what did you want to know that for?” 
queried Mr. Tridge, vigilantly. 

“So as to see whether you’d realize, by comparison, 
what a very different sort of job this is I’m offering 
you.” 

“ ’Ave it your own way,” said Mr. Tridge, guardedly. 
“You go on and say all you’ve got to say, and I’ll 
listen. That’s all I’ll promise.” 

Thus encouraged, Mr. Dobb began to entertain his 
old shipmate with a character sketch of a certain Mr. 
Jevvings, Christian name either Haugustas or 
Hadolphus. 

But whatever uncertainty Mr. Dobb might have as 
to Mr. Jevvings’ correct baptismal name, he had none 
as to Mr. Jevvings’ character. Mr. Jevvings, testified 
Horace, was a sport, a nut, a scorcher, a lad of the 
village, and a real caution. Also, it appeared, he was 
a knockout, a go-er, and, likewise, a cough-drop. Alter¬ 
natively, he was also the limit. Mr. Tridge, nodding 
his head sapiently over these titles to fame, epitomized 


A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 107 


them all in the surmise that Mr. Jevvings must he a 
lively sort of card, and this description of the young 
gentleman gained Mr. Dobb’s cordial agreement. 

Blessed with a gay disposition, an abundance of cash, 
and a widespread reputation for boisterous exploits, 
one might have expected that Mr. Jevvings found life 
replete with satisfaction. But, no! said Mr. Dobb. 
Oh, dear, no! There was something which inexorably 
qualified Mr. Jevvings’ enjoyment of existence. As 
Mr. Dobb phrased it, there was always a wasp in Mr. 
Jevvings’ jam. 

It seemed that that young gentleman, although of 
average build, sadly lacked physical prowess, so much 
so that, in some of his roystering adventures, antago¬ 
nists had thought nothing of playfully ruffling his hair 
prior to throwing him through a window. Courage 
in plenty had Mr. Jevvings, else would he long ago 
have retired into obscurity, but he had no skill at arms, 
and very frequently this precipitated an anticlimax in 
his spirited doings, so that they ended unheroically for 
him. Too often, in fact, had this happened of late, 
and consequently Mr. Jevvings’ reputation as a dashing 
blade was beginning to he clouded by a certain ribald 
contempt for his activities. 

These things did Mr. Dobb explain to Mr. Tridge, 
in the terms most easily understanded of his old ship¬ 
mate. Arrived at this point, he leaned impressively 
forward and tapped Mr. Tridge on the knee. 

“And now,” stated Mr. Dobb, “Vs got a idea for 
making people like ’im more serious. He’s going to 
? ave a fight with some one and knock ’im clean out.” 

“But from what you’ve been telling me,” objected 
Mr. Tridge, “ ’e couldn’t knock a fly off the wall.” 


108 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Mr. Dobb, sitting erect, favoured bis friend with a 
vast lingering wink. Then be continued his exposition. 

It appeared that Mr. Jewings was a close acquaint¬ 
ance of Mr. Dobb’s. Recently be bad come unosten¬ 
tatiously to Mr. Dobb and bad confessed to him the 
bitterness that was vexing bis soul. It was, in fact, 
Mr. Dobb who bad suggested a semi-public demonstra¬ 
tion of bis fistic powers which should compel admiration 
and respect. With this proposition Mr. Jewings bad 
fallen in so enthusiastically that be bad left all arrange¬ 
ments, financial and otherwise, to be consummated by 
Mr. Dobb. 

“So that’s where you comes in,” explained Mr. Dobb. 

“I see,” said Mr. Tridge, acutely. “I says something 
to ’im, ’e knocks me down, and I get twenty quid for 
it?” 

“Ob, not so belementary as that, Joe!” replied Mr. 
Dobb, pained at such lack of artistic imagination. “It’s 
got to be worked up to, neat and natural. And there’s 
got to be time for people to talk about it, before it 
comes off, as well as after. It’ll be a swell thing, fought 
out reg’lar in a boxing-ring, with seconds and all.” 

“And when Vs knocked me about long enough,” 
supposed Mr. Tridge, “down I goes, and takes the count¬ 
out ?” 

Roughly, agreed Mr. Dobb, that was about the size 
of it. But the preliminaries, he pointed out, would 
need careful handling to create sufficient stir to satisfy 
Mr. Jewings, and also Mr. Tridge would be required 
to take enough punishment to make the affair look 
convincing ere he succumbed to Mr. Jewings’ knock¬ 
out blow. This, he explained, was the voluntary hu¬ 
miliation and suffering to which he had alluded earlier 
in the evening. 


A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 109 


“Well, if Vs ’alf the rabbit you make ’im out to 
be, ’e can’t ’urt me much,” complacently theorized Mr. 
Tridge; “and, as for humiliation, I’ve been ’umiliated 
for nothing at all in police-courts before now, so I 
certainly don’t mind being ’umiliated for money.” 

Mr. Dobb, warmly eulogizing Mr. Tridge’s philos¬ 
ophy, assured him that the money was safe enough. 
Once arrangements were in trim for the combat, he— 
Mr. Dobb—would hold himself personally responsible 
for its payment. 

“And we’ll set the ball rolling this very night,” said 
Mr. Dobb, with a computative glance at the clock. 
“Jewings’ll be up in the ‘Rose and Crown,’ along of 
some of ’is pals. You must manage to get into a hal- 
tercation with ’im straightway, and leave the rest to 
me and one or two others what are in the know. We’ll 
see that a boxing match is fixed up between you, and 
you can leave all the arrangements to us.” 

To all this Mr. Tridge assented with perfect readi¬ 
ness. Mr. Dobb then added a few simple instructions, 
and, after a single rehearsal, pronounced Mr. Tridge 
perfect in his role. Summoning his wife from some 
remote apartment, Mr. Dobb affably slipped his arm 
through Mr. Tridge’s, and the pair set off for the “Rose 
and Crown.” 

“That’s ’im—that’s Jevvings!” whispered Horace, 
as they entered the crowded saloon bar. “That quiet¬ 
looking young feller in the check suit, with the pink 
tie, sitting reading the noospaper with patent leather 
boots on.” 

Mr. Tridge, with a nod of comprehension, began to 
cross the floor. He was in the act of passing the young 
man when he stumbled clumsily, and, to preserve his 



110 


"STRICTLY BUSINESS’* 


balance, first knocked off the young man’s bat and next 
ripped the newspaper from bis grasp. 

"Why can’t you keep your great feet out of tbe 
way?” bellowed Mr. Tridge, furiously. "You ought 
to sit with ’em sticking out of tbe window, tbe size 
they are! You don’t want patent leather on ’em—you 
wants red lamps on ’em and a watchman’s box by tbe 
side of ’em! Of all tbe awkward-” 

Mr. Jewings, while preserving his calm under this 
onslaught, rose from bis seat with a singularly sinister 
expression. Then, catching the expressive face of Mr. 
Dobb, he sat down again, a little helplessly. An awed 
bush had fallen on the room; frequenters of the apart¬ 
ment carefully setting down their glasses stared incredu¬ 
lously at the truculent Mr. Tridge. 

"I must ask you to apologize!” said the aggrieved 
Mr. Jewings, in a somewhat fluty voice. 

"You ask away!” returned Mr. Tridge, with jocund 
ferocity. "You keep on till you’re as black in tbe 
face as your blessed great boots! Apologize to a splay¬ 
footed whipper-snapper like you ? Why, I’d sooner give 
you a smack in the eye! Far sooner! And so I would, 
too, for two pins!” 

A sort of stifling surprise agitated the room and those 
gentlemen who were in the forefront of the quarrel 
cautiously stood back, while those on the outer rim of 
the altercation craned eagerly forward. 

"If you don’t apologize,” said Mr. Jewings, firmly, 
“I shall thrash you!” 

"Ho, yus, /^m-deed!” derided Mr. Tridge. "Come 
on, then!” he invited, and posed himself combatantly. 

Audible was the rustle of amazement that coursed 
through the spectators. Mr. Jewings, rising, began to 
turn back his coat-cuffs. There was a tense hush. 



A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 111 


And then, as the folds of a curtain may come sweep¬ 
ing down to suspend the action of a play, so did Mr. 
Horace Dobb and the landlord of the “Rose and Crown” 
effectively intervene at this juncture. 

With a deft certainty of grasp, Mr. Dobb and the 
landlord took command of affairs. Smoothly and 
swiftly did they regularize the situation. Building from 
the foundation that a mere rough-and-ready scrap was 
unthinkable in the chaste altitudes of the “Rose and 
Crown’s” saloon bar, a scaffolding of suggestions was 
run up with a celerity which suggested previous con¬ 
sultations, and presently, within this scaffolding, the 
outlines took shape of a pugilistic encounter of con¬ 
siderable ceremony, involving a ring, judge, seconds, 
and all the other paraphernalia of the craft. 

Mr. Tridge, listening interestedly, heard the arrange¬ 
ments brought to a conclusion with the fixing of a date 
at that day week for the encounter. Mr. Jevvings 
having signified his entire willingness to accept the 
terms of the contest, Mr. Tridge gave his own acquies¬ 
cence to the programme, adding rather gratuitously 
that, on the Sunday afternoon following the contest 
he would call round at the hospital with a bunch of 
grapes for Mr. Jevvings. Alternately he proposed to 
send a handsome wreath of white flowers. 

“Right you are, then—that’s all settled!” said Mr. 
Dobb, exchanging a glance of relief with the landlord. 
“And now 7 , Joe, I think we’d better leave ’ere. Hetti- 
quette, you know, hettiquettte! ’E was ’ere first, and 
it’s ’is privilege to remain.” 

He seemed in some anxiety to remove Mr. Tridge 
from the scene, and, taking him by the arm, drew him 
to the door. Here he led the way out into the street. 
Mr. Tridge, with a farewell remark to the effect that 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


112 

his opponent would be well advised to catch measles 
before the week was out, was about to follow Mr. Dobb, 
when a stout gentleman solemnly stepped forward to 
pat his shoulder with approval. 

“I admire your pluck,” stated the stout gentleman. 

“Huh!” exclaimed Mr. Tridge, glancing scornfully 
at Mr. Jevvings. “It don’t need much pluck!” 

“But you know who he is, don’t you?” asked the 
other, wonderingly. 

“Don’t know and don’t care!” was Mr. Tridge’s reck¬ 
less reply. “I shall expect to learn ’oo ’e is at the 
inquest, anyway.” 

“You don’t know who he is?” gasped the stout gen¬ 
tleman, and then he patted Mr. Tridge’s shoulder again, 
but this time it was commiseratingly. “Why, that’s 
Ted Burch —you know, the Ted Burch! ‘Toff’ Burch, 
the Swindon Slogger!” 

“What?” squealed Mr. Tridge. “A—a—a prize¬ 

fighter ?” 

“Middleweight champion of-” 

“But—but I thought ’is name was Jevvings?” 

“So it is, pro tem returned his informant. “He’s 
stopping here nem. con., doing a little quiet training for 
a match he’s got next month against Billy Traske, of 
Birmingham, and-” 

Mr. Tridge did not await further instruction con¬ 
cerning Mr. Edward Burch. He had passed through 
the door with extreme celerity and was already can¬ 
tering passionately in pursuit of Mr. Horace Dobb. 

Speedily catching up with his quarry, Mr. Tridge 
seized him and charged him with the blackest of treach¬ 
ery towards an unsuspecting friend. Mr. Dobb, but 
slightly stirred by the accusation, obliquely admitted 




A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 113 


its truth by regretting that Mr. Tridge should so soon 
have learnt the truth about Mr. Burch. 

“But—but what did you want to play me a trick 
like that forV’ roared Mr. Tridge. 

“Why, because you’d never else ’ave dared to do 
what you did/’ calmly replied Mr. Dobb. “You said 
yourself you’d ’ave nothing whatever to do with prize¬ 
fighters. That’s why I ’ad to take all the trouble to 
make up all that yarn I told you about Jewings being 
a wild young chap of this town. Otherwise I’d never 
have brought you up to the scratch.” 

“Well, you don’t suppose I’m going any further with 
it, do you?” demanded Mr. Tridge. “No fear!” 

“Oh, but you can’t back out now, Joe!” argued Mr. 
Dobb. “It ’ud look so silly and cowardly if you backed 
out now.” 

“I don’t care ’ow it looks if I back out! I know ’ow 
it will feel if I don't back out, anyway! I can’t think 
what possessed you to play such a silly trick on me! 
Getting me to agree to stand up to a professional boxer 
under false pretences! Why, I’ve half a mind-” 

Mr. Dobb, beseeching Mr. Tridge to maintain calm, 
now promised to impart the exact truth of the matter, 
prefacing his statement with a catalogue of grisly things 
which he said he hoped would happen to him if he 
diverged from complete veracity by as much as a hair¬ 
breadth. 

He admitted that Mr. Burch, otherwise Mr. Jewings, 
was a pugilist of some prominence with a deserved fame 
for neat and businesslike finishes to his bouts. It was, 
it transpired, the aim and ideal of Mr. Burch to put 
a similarly neat and businesslike finish to his forth¬ 
coming encounter with Mr. William Traske, of Birming- 



114 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS’’ 


Lam. And, indeed, there was not the slightest doubt 
of Mr. Burch’s ability to do so. Unfortunately, there 
were others who held the same confidence as to the 
result, and this materially affected the betting on the 
issue of the match. In short, so overwhelmingly was 
Mr. Burch the favourite that it had become a matter 
of extreme difficulty to find anyone willing to bet against 
him, no matter how tempting the odds. 

In these circumstances, it was thought expedient that 
something should transpire to lessen the popularity of 
Mr. Burch in betting circles. The landlord of the 
“Rose and Crown,” a party vested with considerable 
financial interests in Mr. Burch, had talked the matter 
over with other supporters, and together they had agreed 
on a plan. Further, the landlord of the “Rose and 
Crown,” being a close friend of Mr. Dobb’s and con¬ 
versant with his abilities for organization, had called 
him in counsel and enlisted his services in the matter. 

Briefly the scheme was this. Mr. Burch was to be¬ 
come involved in a quarrel with a local nobody, and 
to agree to settle the difference with boxing-gloves. Mr. 
Burch was to perform but indifferently at this match, 
failing to make the most of opportunities, and not get¬ 
ting in the knock-out blow till the twentieth round. 
There were spies in the Burch camp, and this strange 
remissness of his would indubitably be reported leading 
to a resurgence of confidence among the supporters of 
Mr. Traske, and so creating a profitable reaction on 
the betting market. 

“But they’ll twig it’s a put-up job,” contended Mr. 
Tridge. 

“No, they won’t, not them! You see, the affair’s 
supposed to be kept very quiet. Of course, it’s really 
a matter of hadvertisement, to hadvertise that Burch 


A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 115 


’as gone dead off form; but seeing that it’s a personal 
matter ’e’s fighting about, they’ll never dream ’e ain’t 
in earnest.” 

Here, then, concluded Mr. Dobb, was the real office 
that Mr. Tridge was required to fill, and the only dif¬ 
ference in it to that which he had aforetime imagined 
it to be was that he was expected to stand up to a 
professional boxer of proved ability, instead of a mere 
amateur of indifferent skill. 

a The fighting part’s just the same,” pointed out Mr. 
Dobb. “You’ve only got to let ’im play about with 
you for a bit, and the twenty quid is yours.” 

“Play aboutf” echoed Mr. Tridge. 

“That’s all, Joe,” said Mr. Dobb, reasurringly. “And 
you get twenty quid for it. It’s a big sum, but I know 
we can rely on you to keep your mouth shut. And 
’ere’s the i Jolly Sailors’—let’s turn in and talk it over 
quietly.” 

This they proceeded to do, though, as time progressed, 
they talked less and less quietly. Mr. Dobb, after 
drawing over and over again an agreeable mental pic¬ 
ture wherein Mr. Tridge, for a few paltry taps on the 
nose, was rewarded with a hair-dressing business of his 
very own, at length won the admission from his friend 
that it seemed worth it, after all. 

“ ’Course it is,” affirmed Mr. Dobb. “You can take 
a bit of punishment, can’t you ?” 

“I can take it all right,” acquiesced Mr. Tridge. 
“The worst of it is that I always takes it faster than 
I gives it.” 

“Besides, Joe, ’e won’t ’it you very ’ard,” wheedled 
Mr. Dobb. “You see ’e’s got to give the idea that ’e’s 
out of form. And it won’t be till the twentieth round 


116 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


that ’e knocks you out, so you’ll ’ave plenty of time to 
get used to the idea.” 

“And I might go down of my own haccord in the 
nineteenth,” said Mr. Tridge, brightly. “Then ’e won’t 
’ave a chance to put me properly to sleep.” 

So that, when at length the law of the land com¬ 
pelled the “Jolly Sailors” to be churlish with its hos¬ 
pitality, Mr. Tridge had promised that no effort should 
be lacking on his part to crown the match with success, 
and he and his old shipmate parted on the best of 
terms. 

Next morning, however, Mr. Tridge’s courage had 
suffered a relapse. Calling on Mr. Dobb at an early 
hour, he proclaimed his intention to abjure the match. 
In vain did Mr. Dobb fawn upon him with honeyed 
words; in vain did Mr. Dobb conjure up for him a 
splendid vision of a barber’s shop with “J. Tridge” 
in big letters over the door. Mr. Tridge was obdurate 
to mere verbal blandishments. It was only when Mr. 
Dobb, in desperation, offered to come with him and 
enter into pourparlers for early occupation of the little 
shop Mr. Tridge knew to be standing empty, that that 
unwilling gladiator again agreed to hold to the terms 
of his contract. 

And even then he managed things with so adroit a 
reluctance that, before the day was over, Mr. Dobb, 
to clinch matters more effectually, was jockeyed into 
standing surety for the rent of the little shop, so that 
Mr. Tridge could enter into tenancy straightway. 

For the next twenty-four hours Mr. Tridge was occu¬ 
pied with pails and brooms, getting his establishment 
into order, to the exclusion of all thoughts about the 
impending combat. That night, however, he was too 
tired to sleep, and next morning he again sought out 


A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 117 


Mr. Dobb to place bis resignation in bis bands. Bnt 
Mr. Dobb treated tbe crisis diplomatically by advancing 
him tbe wherewithal to purchase sundry implements 
of tbe hair-dressing profession. And, after that, Mr. 
Tridge could not but vow that be would cause no further 
concern of mind, and this promise he loyally kept. 

None tbe less a marked moodiness of manner over¬ 
came him as tbe day of tbe encounter drew near, and 
often bis deportment was that of a man doomed to 
early disintegration. To cheer him, Mr. Dobb contrived 
for him a secret meeting with Mr. Burch, who revealed 
himself as quite an amiable young gentleman, and prom¬ 
ised Mr. Tridge that be should receive no real hurt 
until the final blow of tbe contest. 

“And that/ 7 interpolated Mr. Dobb, encouragingly, 
“you won’t be in your senses to feel, Joe, for more 
than a millionth part of a second, so you needn’t worry 
about that.” 

And so we come to the day of the meeting, with Mr. 
Tridge, now visibly a prey to the direst forebodings, 
and with but a pathetic interest in his hairdressing 
shop, ready for immediate opening. For hours Mr. 
Tridge had gazed round the tiny place, sighing pro¬ 
foundly, as one who has achieved an aim too late in 
life, or else he had fondled the shining new implements 
reverently, as if already they were relics. 

Mr. Dobb did his best to dissipate these mournful 
fears, reporting to Mr. Tridge that his financial share 
in the affair was abundantly secure, and that as soon 
after the conclusion of the contest as Mr. Tridge was able 
to think clearly, the landlord of the “Rose and Crown” 
was empowered to pay out to Mr. Tridge twenty pounds, 
less the amount already advanced by Mr. Dobb. And 
also Horace had endeavoured to stimulate Mr. Tridge’s 


118 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


interest in life by causing to be affixed to the wall of 
the place of meeting a huge poster which announced the 
imminent opening of the Magnolia Toilet Saloon (pro¬ 
prietor, J. Tridge), Bridge Street, Shorehaven. 

At six o’clock that evening Mr. Tridge was disturbed 
in a singularly vain effort to secure a little refreshing 
slumber, and was called upon to receive Mr. Peter Lock. 
Mr. Lock, at the earnest request of his old shipmate, 
had consented to act as Mr. Tridge’s second, and by 
way of inculcating the proper bright spirit in his prin¬ 
cipal with a little facetiousness, he now entered the 
apartment with slow, measured tread, and with extra¬ 
ordinary gravity of mien. 

“Joseph Tridge,” announced Mr. Lock, sepulchrally, 
“your hour is come!” 

“Don’t go making a mock of sacred things!” irritably 
requested Mr. Tridge. “It ain’t funny—not at this 
minute.” 

“Joseph Tridge,” droned on Mr. Lock, undeterred, 
in the same hollow tones, “have you made your will ?” 

“It so ’appens,” snapped Mr. Tridge, “I ’ave! This 
very hafternoon! Thanks be I ain’t left nothing to 
grinning i-i-enas!” 

Mr. Lock, perceiving that Mr. Tridge’s nerves were 
not yet keyed to appreciation of personal badinage, now 
endeavoured to rally him by narrating to him a number 
of droll anecdotes, all of which Mr. Tridge received 
in stony silence. Mr. Lock was still indefatigably en¬ 
deavouring to cheer his principal when the stout and 
venerable Mr. Samuel Clark made his appearance. 

Mr. Clark essayed no levity of conversation. On 
the contrary, he crossed in silence to Mr. Tridge and 
gravely clasped his hand. This done, he patted Mr. 


A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 119 


Tridge on the shoulder with deep sympathy, shook his 
hand again, and then sat down with a long, deep sigh. 

“Cheerful, you are!” growled Mr. Tridge. “What 
do yon think you’ve come to—a fooneral ?” 

“Oh, no; not yet—not yet, Joe!” Mr. Clark made 
haste to reply. “But I must say I ’ad a most hextry- 
ordinary dream about you to-day. Most hextryordi- 
nary! I dreamed you was killed in this ’ere fight. 
Funny thing I should dream that, wasn’t it?” 

“Funny f” fulminated Mr. Tridge. 

“Anyway,” interposed Mr. Lock, “dreams always goes 
by contraries. It’ll be the other chap what’ll-” 

“In my dream,” said Mr. Clark, “the other chap was 
so overcome by ’orror that ’e ’anged ’isself. So there 
you are—take your choice!” 

For some moments Mr. Tridge sat apparently con¬ 
sidering the selection. Then suddenly he rose and 
looked sadly in the mirror, and next he went slowly 
round the room, gazing at every article as though in 
tender farewell. Finally, shaking his head, he passed 
out of the apartment, and, followed by Mr. Clark and 
Mr. Lock, made his way to the “Rose and Crown.” 

Here he found Mr. Dobb, who professed keen relief 
at sight of him, and forthwith conducted him to a 
dressing-room attached to the arena. Mr. Lock now 
offered to his principal much sage advice with regard 
to the coming contest; but Mr. Tridge was too occu¬ 
pied in his own mournful meditations to give useful 
heed. 

“What—not dressed yet ?” asked Horace, in surprise, 
entering the cubicle presently. “Why, you’ll be late! 
The ’all’s packed to overflowing, and there’s three chaps 
fell through the skylight already!” 




120 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


As one in a dream Mr. Tridge began to disrobe and, 
later, to habit himself in the athletic garb Horace had 
procured for him. 

“Now, come along !” ordered Horace, impatiently. 
“And for goodness’ sake, Joe, stop your knees from 
rattling so loud, else the referee won’t be able to ’ear 
’isself speak! And do try to look ’appier!” 

“I can’t!” confessed Mr. Tridge. 

And now events marched through a haze to meet 
Mr. Tridge. He was aware of being pushed on to a 
platform by Mr. Lock’s shoulder, of being introduced 
to a crowded audience, of being fitted with enormous 
gloves. He heard plaudits greet his name, and would 
automatically have smiled his acknowledgments had 
he had the least control over his features. He saw the 
graceful, well-knit, frame of his adversary vividly super¬ 
imposed, as it were, on a cloud made up of seconds and 
attendants. 

“Time!” declared an authoritative voice. Mr. Clark 
breathed on Mr. Tridge a final cheery but unteetotal 
wish for his good luck; Mr. Lock gave him a shove; 
and he found himself facing his opponent. He caught 
a glimpse of the Magnolia Shaving Saloon advertise¬ 
ment, and he subconsciously wondered whether a cere¬ 
monial black shutter had been included among the stock 
and fixtures. 

Mr. Jevvings bore down on him, glove outstretched, 
for the etiquette of handshaking. As hand met hand, 
Mr. Jevvings winked surreptitiously at Mr. Tridge in 
token of remembrance of the terms of the secret treaty. 
A sudden alertness illumined Mr. Tridge’s mind. 

And as Mr. Jevvings carelessly stepped back from 
the handshake, Mr. Tridge’s left arm shot out, unexpect¬ 
edly and violently and accurately. With a terrific 


A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 121 


impact it landed squarely on the jaw of the unprepared 
Mr. Jevvings. 

Mr. Jevvings momentarily had the illusion of sailing 
skyward. Then he landed on the floor with a resound¬ 
ing thud. 

Mr. Tridge, palpitating almost tearfully Twixt fear 
and hope, hovered near him; but he lay there inert, 
and they counted him out. And so Shorehaven’s most 
sensational boxing-bout came to an abrupt end at its 
very start. 

Again high emotion wrapped a mist around Mr. 
Tridge, but now it was tinged with a roseate hue, for, 
lo! The fight was over and he was still alive, and, 
more wonderful still, uninjured. This alone he could 
apprehend with the forefront of his mind, but remoter 
regions of his brain took heed that there was cheering 
and drinking and speeches; there was abject worship 
from the stout Mr. Clark, warm commendation from 
Mr. Peter Lock. And, most gratifying of all, there was 
public presentation of the residue of the twenty pounds, 
correct to a penny, and also there was a collection which 
a dazed but approving audience supported to the extent 
of eleven pounds four and six. 

Within an hour Mr. Tridge was being lionized in 
the bar-parlour. Men strove for the honour of buying 
drinks for him, feeling well repaid if he recognized their 
existence in return. Quite plutocratic people vied with 
each other for the privilege of speaking deferentially 
to him, and importantly bade each other hush when he 
condescended to voice his opinions on any subject. For 
Mr. Tridge had won a battle in record time against 
the wildest expectation, and was now a hero and had 
raised himself into the ranks of the Temporary 
Immortals. 


122 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Mr. Dobb alone appeared out of sympathy with the 
popular mood for acclamation. For some while he sat 
silently watching Mr. Tridge among his courtiers. At 
last, unable to repress his emotions any longer, he rose 
and led Mr. Tridge into the obscurity of the passage 
outside. 

“What the dooee did you do it for?” irascibly de¬ 
manded Horace. 

“It was a hinspiration,” said Mr. Tridge, modestly. 
“Just as the start was called, I looked up and I see 
that hadvertisement of my saloon. Somehow it come 
into my ’ead all in a flash what you said about the 
match being all a matter of hadvertisement, and a idea 
come to me that almost blinded me. I didn’t see 
why I shouldn’t get the hadvertisement for me and my 
saloon. I could see ’ow everybody ’ud troop up to be 
shaved by a chap what ’ad knocked out Toff Burch of 
Swindon. I could see ’ow useful my reppytation would 
be to keep customers in order when they complained 
if I cut ’em. And then I done it. Almost before I 
could think ’ow I was to do it, I done it. I knew I 
shouldn’t get a better chance, I knew ’e wouldn’t be 
troubling at all and that ’e wasn’t hexpecting me to do 
anything, and I done it. And it come off.” 

“ ’E’ll ’alf kill you for it later on,” prophesied Mr. 
Dobb, with malevolent satisfaction. 

“Oh, no, ’e won’t! I’ve ’ad a chat with ’im since ’e 
come round. ’E ivas pretty sore about it, ’e owned, but 
’e don’t so much mind now. For why? Already 
they’re hoffering three to one against ’im for ’is match 
with Traske of Birmingham. So ’e’s quite satisfied, 
after all. And I’ve took care to see that I ain’t 
hexpected to meet ’im again, because I’ve been telling 
every one I’d made a vow long ago to give up boxing 


A MATTER OF ADVERTISEMENT 123 


for hever from this night forth, and they all agrees with 
me that I couldn’t ’ave made a better end-up.” 

“Well, every one else may be satisfied, but I ain’t,” 
said Mr. Dobb, a little awkwardly. “I’ll tell you for 
why. Knowing ’ow things was planned I’d been making 
a good lot of bets at long odds on this match—fourteen 
pounds in all —against you, of course. And, seeing as 
you’ve upset everything, I reckon it ’ud only be friendly 
and fair, out of your collection and so forth, to make 
good a bit of my loss to me.” 

“Come round to-morrow when I open,” invited Mr. 
Tridge, happily, “and you shall be the first customer 
and I’ll shave you free. There!” 

“Don’t try to get out of it like that, Joe. Fair’s 
fair! If you’d done what you was hexpected to I’d 
’ave made money. As it is, I’ve lost it. And you’ve 
got your collection, and the rest of your twenty quid, 
and-” 

“And I’ve got a motter, too, ’Orace,” said Mr. Tridge, 
softly, turning to the door of the bar-parlour. “It’s 
the same as yours ” he ended, with a grin, as he returned 
to adulation. 




EPISODE VI 


“ALL’S FAIR-” 

T HE single, succinct phrase, “Doings!” linked 
to an address and an hour, had been passed 
round among the former shipmates of that obsolete 
vessel the “Jane Gladys,” and this slogan, acting much 
after the manner of a Fiery Cross, had immediately 
rallied the old confederacy to a ready eagerness to stand 
shoulder to shoulder again to take toll of the world by 
the exercise of those devious methods at which they were 
so expert. 

And now here, in the cosy back parlour of the little 
shop in Fore Street, was assembled that quartet upon 
whom long companionship in the “Jane Gladys” had 
conferred a sinister brotherhood in ignoble aims and 
disreputable ambitions; and though each member had 
passed into a divergent class of shore-abiding life, it 
was plain that they were all still closely united by a 
common passion for petty intrigue. 

Informal presidency over the meeting was exercised 
by Mr. Horace Dobb. At Mr. Dobb’s right hand sat 
the trim and debonair Mr. Peter Lock. On Mr. Dobb’s 
left was the corpulent and venerable Mr. Samuel Clark, 
who, by virtue of his appointment of ferryman across 
the mouth of Shorehaven Harbour, still preserved some 
remnant of his former nautical environment. Opposite 
to Mr. Dobb was Mr. Joseph Tridge, who had fortui¬ 
tously laid aside his maritime jersey to wear a cotton 

124 



“ALL’S FAIR 


125 


>> 


overall in that hairdressing shop which Fate and force 
had secured for him. 

Despite the stimulating and still undisclosed purpose 
for which the assemblage had been convened, the open¬ 
ing stages of the reunion were largely made up of spaces 
of vaunting autobiography, contributed by each of the 
members in a jostling, ill-disciplined way, sometimes 
separately, but usually in a pressing, conflicting chorus. 

Thus Mr. Clark recounted, with great glee, as an 
example of his acumen, an anecdote concerning a 
foreign client who was unfamiliar both with the British 
system of coinage and the current rate of payment for 
passage on a ferry-boat. Mr. Tridge, in a similar boast¬ 
ful spirit, rehearsed some of his most successful retorts 
to customers who complained of dull razors or blunt 
scissors or intrusive lather-brushes. Mr. Dobb, for his 
part, supplied glowing accounts of the profits to be 
derived from the second-hand business by a man who 
was neither unperceptive nor too scrupulously honest; 
and Mr. Lock, not to be overshadowed, revealed many 
hitherto unsuspected ways by which a billiard-marker 
might add substantially to his income. 

And so the time wore on very pleasantly, till at last 
Mr. Dobb, looking pointedly at the clock, cleared his 
throat, and leaning his folded arms on the table, 
patently assumed a waiting attitude. Instantly a 
hush intervened, and something of an electric thrill 
coursed through this old and tried combination of small 
adventurers, for the time for consideration of serious 
business was come. 

“Well, ’ere we are,” said Mr. Dobb, gazing round on 
his fellows, “all well and truly hestablished in the town 
of Shore’aven, like we’ve always ’oped and planned. 



126 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Sitting round bragging about our cleverness is all very 
well, but you know my motter, don’t you ?” 

“ ‘Strictly business!’ ” supplied Mr. Tridge. “And 
I only wish I ’ad ’alf the friendly pints together it must 
’ave saved you!” 

“It’s a good motter,” said Mr. Dobb, equably. “It’s 
saved me a lot of talk, anyway, when you chaps ’ave 
dropped round on the chance of borrering a bob or two. 
‘Strictly business!’—that’s got to be the motter for 
all of us, from now on. We’ve only to work together, 
and we can make ourselves ’ated for twenty miles round 
Shore’aven.” 

“We used to be ’ated for a ’undred miles round the 
poor old ‘Jane Gladys,’ ” recalled Mr. Tridge, regret- 
fully. 

“‘Strictly business!’—that’s got to be one of our 
motters,” continued Mr. Dobb. “And the other must 
be ‘ ’Elp one another!’ ” 

“Well, I like that!” exploded Mr. Clark. “And 
only the day before yesterday you refused to let me ’ave 
a cracked old second-’and teapot on credit!” 

“And now ’ere we are, all hassembled for a trial 
trip, so to speak,” said Mr. Dobb, blandly ignoring the 
interruption. “If we work it right, there’s a couple of 
quid in it for each of you.” 

“And what do you take ?” demanded Mr. Tridge. 

“I take the risk,” answered Mr. Dobb, simply. 

“Oh, well, what’s the hidea, anyway?” asked Mr. 
Lock. “The boss ’as only given me one night off from 
the saloon, so I can’t stop here till to-morrow while you 
and Joe gets arguing as to whether you’re a miser or 
a philanthro-what-is-it! I suppose you’ve got some 
notion to put before us ? You generally have.” 


“ALL’S FAIR 


127 


“And I ? ave now.” Mr. Dobb assured bim. “A 
good ’un, too ! You know old George Pincott ?” 

“The chap what’s lately started in the second-hand 
business in opposition to you?” returned Mr. Lock. 
“Aye, I know him. He often drops in at our place for a 
game of billiards.” 

“I know ’e does,” admitted Mr. Dobb. “I’ve been 
taking that into account.” 

“I know ’im, too,” put in Mr. Tridge. “ ’E comes 
round to me every day for a shave.” 

“So I understand,” said Mr. Dobb, dryly. 

“ ’E’s doing pretty well for a new-comer, too, ain’t 
’e ?” queried Mr. Clark, not without suspicion of relish. 

“Too jolly well!” declared Mr. Dobb. 

“ ’E wouldn’t buy my carumgorum studs off of me, 
though,” mentioned Mr. Clark, as though this were a 
circumstance that disproved Mr. Pincott’s business 
inefficiency. “Three chances I give ’im, too, to say 
nothing of leaving ’em at ’is shop for four days for 
’im to make up ’is mind. ’E was out when I left 
’em.” 

“Oh, ’e ain’t a fool, not by no means!” observed Mr. 
Dobb. “Well, and now do you know Mr. Simon 
Lister ?” 

“I know hof ’im,” volunteered Mr. Clark. “ ’E’s 
that old chap what lives in the big new ’ouse along the 
London road, what used to be something in the hoil and 
colour line.” 

“That’s the chap,” accepted Mr. Dobb. “ ’E come 
into a fortune, unexpected, about a year ago. ’E’s 
one of my regular customers.” 

“What! you don’t mean to say a rich old chap like 
that drops around with old iron and odd crockery to sell 
to you ?” cried Mr. Tridge, in surprise. 



ns 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


/ 

/ 

/ 

/ 


“Oh, no!” corrected Mr. Dobb, a trifle loftily. “ ’E 
belongs to the hart section of my business. 'E buys off 
of me; ’e don’t sell. ’E buys china and vallyble 
bornyments and so forth. A collector, ’e is, only the 
better kind. What they calls a connoslier. ’E only 
goes in for good stuff.” 

“And ’e buys it off of you?” asked Mr. Tridge, 
incredulous. 

Momentarily Mr. Dobb’s eye drooped. 

“ ’E don’t know so very much about hart,” be 
observed. “ ’E goes very largely by what I tells ’im.” 

“And what do you know about hart ?” asked Mr. 
Lock, gaping. 

“If I can do business by making out I knows things,” 
said Mr. Dobb, firmly, “I knows ’em! See? Anyway, 
I make out I do. And ’e’s got the money to spare to 
get a collection together, and ’e comes to me to ’elp 
’im, and I ain’t the man to refuse ’elp to anyone with 
money. Pounds and pounds ’e’s spent with me, just 
on my recommendation. I let ’im think that I think ’e 
knows nearly as much as I do about hart, and ’e thinks, 
therefore, as I wouldn’t think of cheating ’im.” 

“There seems a lot of thinking about it,” said Mr. 
Lock. 

“It’s a hobby of mine,” returned Mr. Dobb, “think- 
mg is. 77 

“And you wouldn’t dream of deceiving ’im, I’ll lay!” 
said Mr. Tridge, ironically. “No more would I sell a 
chap off the ‘Raven’ a solid, rolled-gold himitation 
ring for a quid if I ’ad ’alf a chance!” 

“China and brickybacks ’e’s bought off of me, and a 
few rare old prints, and some genuine hoil-paintings,” 
catalogued Mr. Dobb. “And some odds and ends what 


“ALL’S FAIR 


129 


>> 


5 e calls bigjewrious and virtue. 7 ’E’s got the money to 
spend, and ’e wants to spend it, and ’oo am I to stand 
in the way of a man’s wishes ?” 

“It’s better than a lottery,” said Mr. Clark, wistfully. 
“And ’ave you got ’im all to yourself, ’Orace V 9 

“Up to a few days ago,” replied Mr. Dobb. “And 
that brings me to the matter in ’and. Old George 
Pincott got to ’ear about this ’ere Mr. Lister, and ’e’s 
trying ’ard to get ’is ’ooks in ’im and drag ’im clean 
away from me. After all, I found ’im first, and so I told 
Pincott, but ’is only answer was that all was fair in love 
and war.” 

Mr. Dobb paused and sighed at such commercial 
laxity. Mr. Tridge feelingly remarked that he did not 
know how the principle acted in war, but that sometimes 
it made things very awkward so far as love was con¬ 
cerned. He was about to cite an instance when Mr. 
Dobb again claimed attention. 

“Ever been in that poky little sweetstuff shop ’alf 
way down Market Lane ?” he asked, as a general ques¬ 
tion. “Oh, well, I ain’t surprised!” he continued, as 
heads were shaken negatively. “It’s a tumble-down, 
ramshackle little place. But there’s a big hoil-painting 
’anging up against the end wall, because that’s the only 
place where they can find room for it.” 

“What sort of a picture?” asked Mr. Lock, with 
interest. “Saucy ?” 

“Ho, it’s supposed to be a bit of scenery—scenery 
in a fog at twilight, by the look of it. It’s signed by a 
chap called Carrotti, and the old gal what keeps the 
shop will tell you that it’s been in ’er family for ’undreds 
of years. She won’t sell it. she says, because it’s a 
heirloom in the family.” 



130 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Sentimental old geezer,” commented Mr. Clark. 
“Fd sell—well, I don’t know what I wouldn’t sell if I 
’ad the chance!” 

“ ’Ave you tried to buy it off of ’er ?” asked Mr. 
Tridge. 

“I haven’t, and I ain’t going to, neither,” said Mr. 
Dobb. “I’m going to give old George Pincott a chance 
to buy it and make a big profit out of it.” 

“But-” expostulated Mr. Lock, at such altruism. 

“It looks,” continued Mr. Dobb, imperturbably, 
“as if it might be one of them there Old Masters. But 
it ain’t! Not by no means! I’ve took the opportunity 
to examine it pretty thorough, and, though I may not 
know much about hart really, I do know enough to 
know that this pickcher ain’t worth as much as the frame 
round it.” 

“I see!” declared Mr. Lock, slapping his knee exul¬ 
tantly. “You want George Pincott to buy it and then 
get stuck with it ?” 

“Oh, no, I wouldn’t wish ’im anything so unkind as 
that!” denied Mr. Dobb, primly. “I want ’im to buy 
it and go along to sell it to Mr. Lister at a good profit.” 

“You’ll be growing wings and learning the ’arp 
next!” foretold Mr. Tridge, in wide-eyed astonish¬ 
ment. 

“Yes, and while ’e’s trying to sell it to ’im,” purred 
Mr. Dobb, “ Fm going to step in and hexpose it as a 
fraud! And that ought to get old Lister away from 
Pincott and back safe to me and my shop for ever and 
ever, oughtn’t it ?” 

“Yes; but how are you going to get Pincott to buy 
it ?” asked Mr. Lock. 

“Well, in the first place,” said Mr. Dobb, “don’t 
forget that Pincott keeps a pretty close eye on me, and 



“ALL’S FAIR 


131 


>> 


that ’e generally goes by what I do, seeing I’m quicker 
at the business than ’e is. And, for another thing don’t 
forget that ’e’s a new-comer to these parts, and don’t 
know that us four was all shipmates together once.” 

“Yes, but how-” began Mr. Lock again. 

“Ah, that’s where you chaps comes in,” stated Mr. 
Dobb, and began to converse in lowered, more earnest 
tones with each of his old companions in turn. 

It was on the following evening that the squat and 
not completely fashionable figure of Mr. George Pincott 
entered the billiard-room of the “Royal William.” 
The hour was still early, and Mr. Peter Lock, the 
marker, was rather forlornly reading a newspaper in a 
corner. Considerably did he brighten at the advent of 
even so unremunerative a patron as Mr. Pincott, and 
willingly did he accept that gentleman’s challenge to 
play a short game in the interval of waiting for brisker 
business. 

‘ ‘ I see a friend of yours this afternoon, sir, ’ ’ observed 
Mr. Lock, casually, after a while. “At least, hardly a 
friend, but more of an acquaintance.” 

“Oh!” said Mr. Pincott, without much interest. 

Mr. Lock squinted along his cue, made a shot, and 
retrieved the red ball from a pocket. 

“Mr. Dobb, of Fore Street,” he said. 

“Oh, ’im?” said Mr. Pincott. 

“Yessir, Mr. Dobb,” went on Mr. Lock; and was 
silent till he had brought another stroke to fruition. 
“Looking very pleased with himself, he was, too.” 

“Why, was Mr. Lister along with him?” quickly 
asked Mr. Pincott. 

“Ho, sir, he was alone. He must be finding business 
very good just at present. He couldn’t help smiling 
as he walked along, and he stopped and chatted to me as 




132 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


affable as affable. He told me I ought to give up 
billiard-marking for picture-dealing. He said there 
was big money to be made at it by a chap who keeps 
his eyes open. It struck me at the time that it was 
rather a pity in some ways that he couldn’t keep his 
mouth shut. Mind you, sir, I think he’d been-” 

Mr. Lock made a pantomimic gesture indicating the 
assuagement of thirst. 

“Ah!” cried Mr. Pincott, with a rising inflexion. 
“And what else did ’e say ?” 

“Well, sir, I don’t know as I ought to repeat it, you 
being a trade rival of his, so to speak,” said Mr. Lock, 
chalking his cue afresh. “But, after all, he didn’t tell 
me nothing very definite. It seems-” 

He ceased to speak, transferring his entire attention 
to the preliminaries of a stroke. 

“Well, what did ’e tell you ?” demanded Mr. Pincott, 
when Mr. Lock stood erect again with a sigh of relief, 
and then began to stride purposefully towards the top 
of the table. 

“Who, sir?” asked Mr. Lock, bending for further 
effort. 

“Why, Dobb!” 

“Dobb? Oh, yes!” said Mr. Lock. “Ah, I thought 
there was just the right exact amount of ‘side’ on that 
one!” 

“About this ’ere Dobb!” Mr. Pincott impatiently 
reminded him. 

“Oh, yes! Well, he didn’t tell me so very much, 
after all, sir. Only something about being on the track 
of a vallyble picture, what was hanging up practically 
unbeknown in this very town here, and about him hoping 
to buy it cheap before anyone else slipped in and 
snapped it up.” 




“ALL’S FAIR-” 133 

“Oh!” exclaimed Mr. Pincott, thoughtfully. 
“Oh!” he repeated, still more thoughtfully. “Oh, 
? e said that, did ? e ? Did ’e tell you where the picture 
was ?” 

“Ho, sir, he didn’t say no more after that. He just 
lit a cigar and walked on.” 

For a few seconds Mr. Pincott silently contemplated 
this goading mental picture of Mr. Dobb prodigally 
lighting cigars, plainly an earnest and foretaste of opu¬ 
lence to come. Then Mr. Pincott turned again to the 
marker and urged him to strive to remember every 
word that had passed in this interview with Mr. 
Dobb. 

Mr. Lock, obliging, repeated some severe strictures 
of Mr. Dobb’s with regard to the district council, the 
state of the weather, and the badness of the local rail¬ 
way service. He was unable, however, to add one 
iota to that which he had already repeated concerning 
Mr. Dobb’s boasted pictorial discovery. 

In the circumstances it was not surprising that Mr. 
Lock won the game with unusual ease, for Mr. Pincott 
had become heavily meditative, and in this mood he 
continued long after he had left the billiard-table, and 
it was still on him in a slightly increased degree when he 
came down to breakfast next morning. 

It was soon after that meal that the bell affixed to the 
door of his shop summoned Mr. Pincott to the counter. 
Standing near the door, in an attitude somewhat furtive 
and hesitant, was a stout and aged mariner whom Mr. 
Pincott identified as the propulsive power of the ferry 
plying across the harbour mouth. 

“Can I—can I speak to you, private and confident, 
for a minute, sir ?” asked Mr. Clark, hoarsely. 

“It depends,” hedged Mr. Pincott. 




134 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“It ain’t nothing to do with carumgorums this time, 
sir,” promised Mr. Clark. 

“If it’s anything the police might want to know 
about,” said Mr. Pincott, “you’ve come to the wrong 
shop. Come at the wrong time o’ day, anyway.” 

“Nor it ain’t anything to do with lead piping nor 
door-knockers, nor anything like that, sir,” disclaimed 
Mr. Clark. 

“Then what is it ?” 

Mr. Clark gazed cautiously about him, and then, 
articulating into the back of his hand in a conspiratorial 
way, whispered across the counter. 

“Eh ?” asked Mr. Pincott. “I didn’t ’ear ? 
Carrots ? This ain’t a greengrocery!” 

“I asked,” said Mr. Clark, more audibly, “ ’ow 
much is Carrottis worth?” 

“Carrottis ?” echoed Mr. Pincott, puzzled. “’What 
are they, anyway ?” 

“Pickchers,” explained Mr. Clark. “Sort of these 
clarrsical pickchers painted by a chap called Carrotti, 
ages and ages ago.” 

“ ’Ow the dooce should I know ?” irritably began 
Mr. Pincott; and then his professional instincts asserted 
themselves. “They—they might be worth anything, up 
or down. It all depends. What makes you ask ?” 

“There’s a certain party wants to buy one,” said Mr^ 
Clark. “And Vs made a offer for it, and it’s been 
refused. And ’e’s asked me to go along and make a 
little ’igher offer for it on ’is behalf and yet not on his 
behalf, if you takes my meaning. ’E’s frightened 
that they know ’e’s keen on getting it. And I says to 
myself that if there’s money to be made, why shouldn’t 
I make a bit extra, too? That’s only fair, ain’t it, 
sir ?” 


“ALL’S FAIR 


135 


>> 


“Yes, yes,” assented Air. Pincott. “And who might 
your friend be ?” 

“Ah, that ’ud he telling,” said Mr. Clark. “And I 
promised to keep 'is name right out of it. But,” he 
added, leering artfully, “there’s only you and ’im in the 
same business in this ’ere town.” 

“ ’Orace Dobb!” cried Air. Pincott. 

“Well, I can take my haffy davit that I never told 
you ’is name, now, can’t I?” pointed out Air. Clark, 
primly. “Well, be ’e ’oo ’e may, why should I take 
the trouble to buy it for ’im for a small tip w T hen some 
one else might be willing to give me a bigger one? 
’E ain’t got no particular call on me, and business is 
business when all’s said and done, ain’t it, sir ?” 

“Of course,” assented Air. Pincott. “Why shouldn’t 
you be artful as well as anybody else ? Where did you 
say the pickcher was ?” 

“I didn’t say,” replied Air. Clark, gently. 

“Well, ’ow can I say whether I want to buy it if I 
’aven’t seen it ?” contended Mr. Pincott, frowning. 

“Ah, I wasn’t born yestiddy!” declared Mr. Clark, 
acutely. “If I tells you where the picture is to be found 
I might as well be right out of the affair altogether. 
You’d go along and buy it on your own, behind my 
back.” 

“Yo such thing,” denied Air. Pincott, with over¬ 
done indignation. 

“Oh, w r ell, I can proteck my own hinterests, thanks 
be!” stated Mr. Clark, easily. “I’ll wait till things is a 
bit further hadvanced before I commits myself. I’ll 
find out what price she’s willing to take, and see you 
again before I sees Mr. Dobb. ’Ow will that do ?” 

“That’s a good idea,” commended Mr. Pincott. 
“But—but I shouldn’t waste no time if I was you. 



136 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Pd go right down there now, wherever it is, and carry 
things a step farther without delay.” 

“And so I will, this minute,” agreed Mr. Clark. 

He favoured Mr. Pincott with a vast wink, and 
nodded very knowingly at him in token of mutual under¬ 
standing. He then took his departure, and Mr. Pincott, 
giving him a grudged start of one minute, followed 
cautiously after him. The fact that Mr. Clark, without 
stopping anywhere, made his way directly hack to his 
employment at the ferry caused Mr. Pincott to speak of 
that aged man’s duplicity in the harshest terms. 

“Oh, well, anyway, I’m further than I was last 
night!” was the consolation Mr. Pincott eventually found 
for himself. “It’s a Carrotti, and Dobb’s found it and 
means to buy it at a bargain, and intends to sell it to old 
Lister, no doubt. However, there’s nothing to prevent 
me selling it to Lister either, if I can get ’old of it. 
Carrotti?” he mused. “Pirst I’ve ever ’eard of ’im, 
but ’e sounds all right. Anyway, if it’s good enough 
for Dobb, it’s good enough for me.” 

And with a grin of satisfaction at the prospect of 
defeating his sole competitor in the district, Mr. Pincott 
put on his hat again, and sauntered along for his cus¬ 
tomary shave. 

He found the Magnolia Toilet Saloon to be void of 
customers, and at once sat down in the operating chair. 
Mr. Tridge, deftly tucking a towel about his patron’s 
throat, began to indulge in conversation with profes¬ 
sional fluency. 

“And ’ow’s business, sir ?” he asked. “Pretty 
bright, I ’ope? There seems to be plenty of money 
knocking about the town for them as knows where to 
look for it. I know one gent, a customer of mine, what 
reckons to clear easy fifty quid over a little deal ’e’s 


“ALL’S FAIR 


13T 


»» 


got in ’and, and the funny part of it is that ? e ain’t 
bought what Vs after yet. ’E’s made a offer, but-” 

He stopped abruptly and, obtaining Mr. Pincott’s 
attention in the mirror, frowned warningly at him as 
Mr. Dobb entered. 

“I understand,” said Mr. Pincott. 

Mr. Dobb nodded patronizingly to Mr. Tridge, and 
accorded a rather more patronizing nod to Mr. Pincott. 
He then sat down quietly with a newspaper to await 
his turn for Mr. Tridge’s services. This coming at 
last, he took his place in the chair with marked alacrity. 

“Don’t keep me longer than you can ’elp,” he 
directed. “Pm a bit later than I meant to be already. 
Give me a nice, clean shave, will you? I’m just on my 
way to see a lady on business.” 

Mr. Pincott, in the act of passing through the door¬ 
way, involuntarily turned round and stared at Mr. 
Dobb. 

When, ten minutes later, Mr. Dobb emerged from 
Mr. Tridge’s establishment, lovingly caressing and 
pinching a velvet chin, he betrayed not the slightest 
indication that he was aware that Mr. Pincott was lurk¬ 
ing inconspicuously at an adjacent corner. Mr. Dobb, 
as one with a definite purpose, walked sharply up the 
street, turned into the neighbouring High Street, and 
thence crossed the wide market place diagonally. His 
itinerary was closely watched and imitated by Mr. 
Pincott. 

And next Mr. Dobb made his way down the narrow, 
tumble-down alley known as Market Lane, still vigi¬ 
lantly attended by his trade rival. Finally, Mr. Dobb 
halted at a little sweetstuff shop, and without looking 
round, entered at its door. Mr. Pincott, finding con¬ 
venient ambush near by, patiently waited for some 




138 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


minutes, and at last saw Mr. Dobb come again to tbe 
threshold of the tiny shop. Here Mr. Dobb turned 
round, and seemed to be in earnest discussion with some 
one within, eventually going off back along Market Lane 
with his hands deep thrust in his pockets and a dis¬ 
satisfied expression on his face. 

Mr. Pincott elatedly watched Mr. Dobb vanish from 
sight. Then, with long, eager strides, he went across 
the street and entered the little shop to the symptoms of 
tempestuous jangling of its door-bell. A female gazed 
at him inquiringly from behind the counter, but Mr. 
Pincott made no immediate remark to her, for he was 
engrossed in staring at a huge and pitchy landscape. 
Closer examination revealed the signature of “Andrew 
Carrotti” flung across a corner in a crimson scrawl. 

“Very old picture, that,” observed the lady behind 
the counter, speaking with a kind of heavy and mechani¬ 
cal civility. “Been in our family for years and years. 
Not for sale, of course. We only hangs it up there 
because there ain’t any other room for it. And what 
can I get for you, please, sir ?” 

“Not for sale, eh?” said Mr. Pincott. 

“No, sir,” she replied, definitely. “There’s another 
gent just been in and tried ’ard to buy it, but I ’ad to 
refuse him. Was you thinking of choc’lates, sir? 
We’ve got some just fresh in.” 

Of certain negotiations which, despite the lady’s 
unwillingness, followed so swiftly and with such con¬ 
tinuity of impact, it is superfluous to write. Suffice 
it to record that Mr. Pincott, fortified and stimulated 
hy the thought that here was something he was snatch¬ 
ing from the very grasp of Mr. Dobb, was content to 
believe that the intrinsic unloveliness of the picture did 
not matter, and that its value was not its value as a 


“ALL’S FAIR 


139 


>> 


work of art, but as a piece of property for winch Mr. 
Lister would pay handsomely. 

So at last the lady, conceded her sex’s privilege, 
changed her mind, and w r as at last prevailed upon to 
part with the picture at a price which was only satis¬ 
factory to Mr. Pincott for the justification it afforded 
him to demand profits on the higher scale from Mr. 
Simon Lister. 

In some excitement and a decrepit cab, Mr. Pincott 
carted his purchase direct to that gentleman’s abode in 
the suburbs of Shorehaven. Mr. Dobb. who had been 
doing a little reconnoitring duty in his turn, saw the 
vehicle turn into the London road with its burden, and 
he followed after it on foot. 

Staggering spectacularly beneath his load, Mr. 
Pincott was ushered into the presence of Mr. Lister. 

“Lawks!” was Mr. Lister’s simple tribute to the 
dramatic quality of the occasion. “Whatever ’ave 
you got there ?” he asked, somewhat unnecessarily. 
“A picture ?” 

“Pickeher ?” said Mr. Pincott, setting down the 
landscape flat on the table, and mopping his forehead. 
“It’ll be about the finest thing in your collection. I 
bought it for you, a rare bargain. ’Alf the dealers in 
the kingdom was after it, but I managed to diddle 
’em!” 

“It—it ain’t very ’andsome,” mildly criticized the 
worthy amateur. 

“ ’Andsome ?” queried Mr. Pincott. “What’s it 
want to be ’andsome for ? It’s a genuine Old Master! 
’Undreds of years old! It’s been in one family for 
generations.” 

“Ah, that’s the kind of thing I want,” said Mr. 
Lister. “And ’ow did you come to ’ear of it ?” 



140 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“I’ve ’ad my eye on it for months past/’ Mr. Pincott 
told him. “I’ve been waiting my opportunity. You 
know ’ow it is in our line. You ’ave to go slow, other¬ 
wise you’re likely to get the price raised.” 

“That’s so/’ said Lister, with a nod of appreciation 
for such nice consideration of his pocket. “And ’oo’s 
it by ?” he queried, examining the canvas with enhanced 
interest. 

“Andrew Carrotti, the famous Old Master,” returned 
Mr. Pincott glibly. “Surely you don’t need me to 
tell you anything more about 9 im¥* 

“I don’t seem to ’ave ’eard the name before, though,” 
admitted Mr. Lister, very honestly. 

“Oh, you’ve ’eard of ’im and forgot,” returned Mr. 
Pincott, easily. “It’ll look well on that wall there, 
opposite the window, won’t it? If you’ve got any 
pickcher-cord ’andy-” 

“ ’Tain’t every one that’s got a genuine Old Master 
hanging on their dining-room wall,” remarked Mr. 
Lister, with naive pleasure. “Little did I ever dream, 

when I used to be serving out ’alf-pounds of sugar-” 

“Mind you, you’re lucky to get it,” said Mr. Pincott. 
“If I wasn’t so himpulsive, I’d ’ave took it up to London 
and sold it at Christie’s, but I’m content with a small 

profit, so long as I can keep your patronage and-” 

“What are you going to ask me for it?” inquired 
Mr. Lister, with a belated effort to appear businesslike; 
and evinced no more objection than a twinge of sur¬ 
prise when Mr. Pincott nominated a price. 

“I’ll write you out a cheque,” promised Mr. Lister, 
and this agreeable feat he was in the act of beginning 
when the advent of Mr. Horace Dobb was announced. 
Mr. Dobb, proclaiming that he had come specially to 
bring Mr. Lister a saucer which matched a cup already 





“ALL’S FAIR 


141 


» 

in his collection, betrayed considerable surprise at view 
of the picture. 

“Well, now, I do ’ope you ain’t going to start col¬ 
lecting trash like that, sir ?” he observed, reproachfully. 

“Trash, Mr. Dobb ?” echoed Mr. Lister. “I’m sur¬ 
prised at a man of your knowledge saying that! Can’t 
you see that it’s a genuine Old Master ? Trash, hin- 
deed!” he said again, indignantly. 

Mr. Dobb bent and scrutinized the landscape closely. 
Then he shook his head, and smiled tolerantly. 

“Pincott’s got to learn the business, just as I ’ad 
to,” he said. “That ain’t a Old Master, sir, and never 
was!” 

“Don’t you take no notice of ’im, sir!” begged Mr. 
Pincott. “Why, ’e was after this very pickcher ’im- 
self!” 

“Oh, no, not me!” disclaimed Horace. “I only buys 
and sells genuine stuff.” 

“This is genuine!” insisted Mr. Pincott. 

“So’s that ’ere diamond in your necktie,” scoffed Mr. 
Dobb. “I don't think!” 

“Why, it’s a Carrotti!” cried Mr. Pincott. “And 
you know ’ow long ago ’e lived, don’t you?” 

“Can’t say I do. I’ve never ’eard of ’im in all my 
life before this very minute. When did ’e live?” 

“ ’ITndreds of years ago!” 

“ ’ITndreds of years ago, eh ?” mused Horace, look¬ 
ing again at the canvas. “Fancy that, now. But the 
pickcher’s so dirty you can ’ardly see what it’s meant 
to be. I’ve got a little bottle of stuff ’ere,” he went 
on, producing a small phial full of a liquid, “and if I 
might clean up just one corn,er-” 

“Yes, do,” invited Mr. Lister. 

Mr. Dobb, moistening his handkerchief with a little 




142 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


of the liquid, worked industriously at a small region on 
the canvas. 

“Well, well!” he marvelled. “Blest if there ain’t 
another pickcher underneath this ’ere one! If the top 
one is ’undreds of years old, the bottom one must be 
thousands! Why, look! ’Ere is a old girl in a crim> 
line just come to light, and a little bit of what looks 
like the Crystal Palace. Must be a view of the Great 
Hexibition, or something!” 

“Clean it up a bit more,” said Mr. Lister, in a new 
and strange voice. 

Nothing loth, Mr. Dobb renewed his energies over 
a wider extent, with such success that presently his 
theory stood substantiated. 

“Well, there it is, sir,” said Mr. Dobb, standing back 
from his handiwork. “I shouldn’t like to say Pincott 
deliberately tried to cheat you, but when a man starts 
in this line of business and knows nothing whatever 
about it-” 

Mr. Dobb gave a half-pitying shrug of the shoulders. 

Five minutes later a husky, indignant and profane 
Mr. Pincott had taken his departure, and the discred¬ 
ited picture had gone with him. Mr. Lister expressed 
his gratitude to Mr. Dobb in the warmest terms. 

“That’s quite all right, sir,” said Mr. Dobb. “I 
don’t like to see no one cheated by chaps like ’im, if 
I can ’elp it.” 

“In future,” promised Mr. Lister, “I shall stick by 
you and abide by your decisions alone.” 

“I’ll look after you all right, sir,” returned Mr. Dobb. 

That same evening, at a convivial little gathering at 
the “Royal William,” Mr. Dobb loyally and uncom¬ 
plainingly paid out two pounds to each of his former 
shipmates. 



“ ALL’S FAIR 


143 


“A little present from Mr. Pincott,” he observed, 
flippantly. 

“All the same, ’Orace,” said Mr. Tridge, thought¬ 
fully, “ ’ow was you so cocksure about the pickcher 
being a wrong ’un ? You’d ’ave looked funny if it ’ad 
turned out genuine. After all, seeing it’s been ’anging 
up all those years in that there little shop, and never 
left the family-” 

“I knew it wasn’t genuine,” stated Mr. Dobb. “I 
knew jolly well. Matter of fact, I give that old gal 
ten bob to ’ang the pickcher up in ’er shop. Matter 
of fact, it was my property to start with. See?” 




EPISODE VII 


HIDDEN TREASURE 

M R. HORACE DOBB, concluding his exposition 
with an emphatic prophecy of success, settled 
himself back in his chair, and smiled round on his 
old shipmates with a certain high, patronizing confi¬ 
dence, as a card-player might triumphantly sit back 
after spreading an invincible hand on the table for open 
inspection. 

There followed a short, analytical silence, punctuated 
towards its close by crescendo grunts which indicated 
a widening and warming comprehension. And next 
arose an incoherent little duet, made up of the begin¬ 
nings of exclamations of admiration from the lips of 
Mr. Joseph Tridge and Mr. Peter Lock, while the trib¬ 
ute of the ancient and corpulent Mr. Samuel Clark took 
the flattering form of speechlessness, allied to a slow, 
marvelling oscillation of the head and a gaze almost of 
veneration at Mr. Dobb. 

And then Mr. Joseph Tridge, never a man to restrain 
honest sentiments, rose from his chair and forcefully 
pounded Mr. Dobb’s shoulder in token of esteem for 
his astuteness, and at the same time loudly challenged 
the world to produce Mr. Dobb’s equal either in art¬ 
fulness or fertility of invention. And Mr. Peter Lock 
affectionately declared that Mr. Dobb, far from being 
spoiled by life ashore, was now even a bigger rascal than 
when he had served as cook to the “Jane Gladys,” of 
mixed memories. 


144 


HIDDEN TREASURE 


145 


These compliments Mr. Dobb equably accepted as his 
just due, merely observing that he counted himself for¬ 
tunate to have the co-operation of men who had gradu¬ 
ated in craft on that ill-reputed vessel to assist him 
now in furthering the more ambitious plans for which 
his present occupations as second-hand dealer offered 
such scope. As sufficient answer to an interpolated 
suggestion of Mr. Tridge’s, he reminded them that 
“Strictly Business 77 was his motto, and explained that, 
therefore, he w T ould produce no bottles nor tumblers till 
it was manifest that all present thoroughly understood 
their parts in the plan of campaign he had outlined 
to them. 

“Let’s see, 7 ' said Mr. Clark. “Peter Lock’s the ’ero, 
ain’t he?” 

“Not the ’ero,” corrected Mr. Dobb. “The rightful 
heir.” 

“I’ve seen ’em at the theatre,” stated Mr. Clark, 
vaguely. “With their ’air all smarmed down with ile, 
and being shot at by villains, and what-not. There’s 
generally a gal or two in the offing and-” 

“Well, anyway,” interrupted Mr. Lock, with some 
satisfaction, “I’ve got to be pretty conspicuous. What’s 
that worth, Horace ?” 

“Same to you as to the others,” replied Mr. Dobb. 
“When I’ve taken one quid, cost price, off the sum 
received, and another one quid for profit, and one quid 
more because it’s my idea, the rest is divided into five 
equal shares and we takes each one, and one over for 
me!” 

“Good enough!” accepted Mr. Lock. “All right. 
I’ll be the unfortunate young chap what’s lost his great- 
uncle. What was his name, Horace?” 



146 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“ ’Ennery Pash,” supplied Mr. Dobb. “You was the 
happle of bis heye, Peter!” 

“Loved me like a father he did,” stated Mr. Lock. 
“Always together we was, didn’t you say, Horace?” 

“Right up to the day before ’e died so sudden,” in¬ 
structed Mr. Dobb. “And then you went away on 
business, and you never come back till weeks after the 
—the melancholy event,” he ended, with pride of ar¬ 
tistry. 

“That’s right,” said Mr. Lock. “And what was he 
like to look at, Horace?” 

“A snuffy, grubby little chap with sandy whiskers 
and a bald ’ead,” returned Mr. Dobb. 

“He don’t seem exactly the kind of relation to be 
proud of,” complained Mr. Lock. “Can’t you do me 
better than that, Horace?” 

“You don’t get misers with top-’ats and white weskits, 
Peter,” pointed out Mr. Dobb. “If ’e’d spent all ’is 
money on clothes, ’e wouldn’t ’ave ’ad any to ’ide in 
the seat of ’is favourite old arm-chair, would ’e?” 

“By the way, ’Orace,” put in Mr. Clark, “where did 
you get the chair to start with ?” 

“Bought it with a odd lot of stuff at a farm sale 
a few miles away. It ain’t worth stuffing and re-up- 
’olstering, so I thought I’d try to sell it as it was, and 
that’s ’ow I come to ’atch out this idea I’ve been a- 
telling you of.” 

“Well, you’ve ’it it on just the right chap in Tommy 
Lane,” approved Mr. Tridge. “ ’E drops into my place 
pretty well every day for a shave, and I never see 
such a old id jit for believing what ’e’s told! You ought 
to ’ear some of the adventures of seafaring life I’ve 
told ’im! Why, they almost make me choke, telling 


HIDDEN TREASURE 


147 


’em! And yet he’d swallow ’em down without so much 
as a cough!” 

“ ’Ere!” exclaimed Mr. Dobb, in some alarm. “ ’E 
don't know you and me and Peter and Sam Clark was 
all shipmates together once, does ’e ?” 

“No, ’e don’t,” said Mr. Tridge, flushing a little. 

“ ’Ow do you know ’e don’t ?” demanded Mr. Dobb. 

“Because,” said Air. Tridge, rather reluctantly, “I’ve 
always give ’im to understand that afore family mis¬ 
fortunes made me take a ’air-dresser’s shop I was second 
in command on a torpeder-boat!” 

“And ’e believed that?" cried Air. Clark. 

“ ’E said that ’e’d guessed it! Said that there was 
always something about us naval chaps what couldn’t 
be disguised, no matter ’ow ’ard we tried!” related Mr. 
Tridge, with pride. 

“Well, then, we shan’t ’ave no trouble with 9 im!" 
foretold Air. Lock, happily. “I don’t know the chap 
myself; he don’t come to the ‘Royal William’ billiard- 
saloon, as I knows of. Have you ever met him, Sam ?” 

“ ’Undreds of times!” asserted Air. Clark. “I often 
ferries ’im across the river.” Air. Clark paused, and 
his eyes twinkled joyously. “ ’E thinks I used to be 
a smack-owner!” he crowed. 

“Whatever made ’im think that ?” asked Air. Tridge, 
in surprise. 

“I told ’im so!” shamelessly answered Air. Clark. 
“A smack-owner! Me! Only I was unlucky!” 

“A bit of make-believe I can understand,” reproved 
Air. Tridge, loftily. “But a pack of downright lies ! 99 

“Well, ’e shouldn’t try to be so clever, then!” said 
Air. Clark, with spirit. “If ’e can slip out the other 
side without paying my fare, ’e think’s ’e’s done well, 


148 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


and ’e takes a deal of convincing, too, to get the money 
out of ’im in the end.” 

“Yes, ’e certainly watches money pretty close,” agreed 
Mr. Tridge. “Never yet ’as ’e over-paid me by as 
much as a ’apenny, and ’e tried to beat down the 
price of a shave till ’e see it was no good. Oh, Vs 
got a eye for the main chance all right!” 

“That was the character I got of ’im,” mentioned 
Mr. Dobb, dryly. “ ’Ence this gathering of old friends.” 

“Anyway,” summarized Mr. Lock, “this here Mr. 
Lane sounds just our mark!” 

And with that the confederation went into close 
committee. 

It was during the course of the next afternoon that 
a rotund little gentleman, with a countenance remark¬ 
able for a guileless expression and neatly trimmed side- 
whiskers, sauntered down to the ferry-boat at the mouth 
of the harbour. 

“Good afternoon, Mr. Lane, sir!” said Mr. Samuel 
Clark, with deference. “Going across ?” 

The little gentleman, affably admitting this to be his 
intention, disposed himself neatly in the boat, and Mr. 
Clark pulled off at his customary leisurely stroke. 

“Beautiful weather!” observed Mr. Lane. 

“Just right for heverybody except the doctors, as my 
old pal, ’Ennery Pash, used to say,” agreed Mr. Clark, 
with some emphasis on the latter portion of his remark. 

“Lovely lot of ozone in the air to-day,” mentioned 
Mr. Lane, sniffing appreciatively at the odours from the 
dredger. 

“Ah, if ’e could ’ave got more into ’is system, ’e 
wouldn’t be where ’e is to-day,” stated Mr. Clark, re¬ 
gretfully. 

“Who wouldn’t ?” inquired Mr. Lane. 


HIDDEN TREASURE 


149 


“My old pal, ’Ennery Pash.” 

“And where is ’e now, then ?” asked the passenger. 

Mr. Clark sorrowfully shook his head and pointed 

aloft. 

“Far as I know,” he explained. And added: “ ’E 
was a good churchman, according to ’is views, anyway.” 

Mr. Lane, in response to this sombre intrusion on the 
brightness of the day, kept a chastened silence. Mr. 
Clark, sighing deeply, shook his head again, and offered 
a well-known quotation bearing on the instability of 
human life. 

“P’r’aps you knew old ’Ennery Pash, sir ?” he sug¬ 
gested. 

“Can’t say I did,” returned Mr. Lane, apologetically. 

“Ah, ’e was a quiet old chap. ’E didn’t get about 
much. There wasn’t many as met ’im. ’E stopped 
indoors most of ’is time, only I thought p’r’aps you 
might ’ave knowed ’im.” 

“No. Where did he live?” 

“Oh, ’e was always moving!” replied Mr. Clark. “ ’E 
never stopped anywhere long, but now ’e’s settled for 
good and all. Five weeks ago, that was.” 

“Is he buried in the town ?” asked Mr. Lane, politely, 
affecting interest in the sad event. 

“No, sir; in Scotland, where ’e was born.”' 

“And what was ’e like ?” 

“Ah, a little, short, shabby old chap, ’e was. But, 
then, there was a reason for ’is going shabby.” 

“Oh, indeed ? He was poor, I suppose ?” 

“Not 9 im! ’E was a miser.” 

“A miser ?” said Mr. Lane. “Really ?” 

“Really! ’E told me so ’isself dozens of times! 
‘Sam,’ ’e says to me, ‘you’d never believe ’ow much 
I’ve got saved up!’ Couldn’t bear to spend a penny, ’e 



150 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


couldn’t; and ’e kept it all in the ’ouse. Didn’t believe 
in banks, ’e said.” 

“And I suppose they found it when-” 

“Not a brass farthing!” cheerfully affirmed Mr. 
Clark. 

“Strange! What did his relations do about it?” 

“ ’E’d only got one, a great-nephew, and ’e was away 
at the time and couldn’t be found.” 

“But who paid for the funeral ? It must have cost 
a lot, taking place in Scotland.” 

“Some of us paid for it, sir, ’is old pals. Leastwise, 
we sold all ’is furniture and stuff, and raised the money 
that way.” 

“But what do you think became of his savings ?” 

“Well, if you ask me, sir I reckon the old fool— 
begging ’is pardon, I forgot!—the poor old fellow ’ad 
kept on changing ’em into paper money and ’ad burned 
’em by accident, or else because ’e couldn’t bear the 
idea of anyone else getting ’em after ’e was gone.” 

“I should have thought he’d have been glad for his 
nephew to get them.” 

“His great-nephew, sir. Well, that’s as may be. All 
I know is that we found a great ’eap of charred papers 
in ’is fire-place when we broke in, when we suspected 
the worst. Lots of it was only old letters and noos~ 
papers, and so on, but there might easily ’eve been 
paper money amongst it. It was all so powdered up. 
Anyway, that’s what we decided on in the end, there 
being no other way to account for the habsence of the 
money; and we ’adn’t ’alf ransacked ’is chest of drawers 
and boxes, neither!” 

“Strange!” commented Mr. Lane again. “Very 
strange!” 

“So we thought, sir,” acquiesced Mr. Clark. “ ’Ow- 



HIDDEN TREASURE 


151 


ever, ’ere we are/’ lie went on, with an abrupt change 
of key, as the ferry gently nosed into the opposite bank. 
“And I never noticed ’ow quick we was travelling; 
Sail along of chatting about poor old ’Ennery Pash.” 

He assisted his passenger to alight, pocketed his fare, 
and slowly sculled away again across the river. 

“Another minute and I’d ’ave bust!” he told him¬ 
self, in rapt enjoyment. “Sam, my boy, you’re like 
wine—you improves with age!” 

The Magnolia Toilet Saloon; Shorehaven, was empty 
next morning at noon, save for two individuals. One 
of these was the proprietor, Mr. Joseph Tridge; the 
other was the trim, debonair Mr. Peter Lock, and to¬ 
day he wore a black tie in place of his usual brilliant 
neckwear. 

“ ’E’s sure to be in soon, Peter,” Mr. Tridge was 
saying. “This is just about ’is time. It’s no good 
your complaining about ’aving to ’ang about ’ere. You 

agreed with ’Orace and us others- ’Ere quick, sit 

down! ’Ere ’e comes!” 

Mr. Lock, casting aside a newspaper, seated himself 
at a bound in the operating chair. Mr. Tridge, wrap¬ 
ping a towel about his companion’s shoulders, began 
delicately to powder Mr. Lock’s smooth chin. A minute 
later the door opened, and Mr. Thomas Lane entered 
with the inquiring, calculating gaze habitual to men 
entering barbers’ shops. 

“Shan’t keep you waiting a minute, sir!” called out 
Mr. Tridge. “I’m just finishing this gent.” 

Mr. Lane sat down readily enough, and Mr. Tridge 
proceeded to remove the powder from Mr. Lock’s chin. 

“So you ain’t ’eard nothing more about your great- 
uncle’s money, sir ?” inquired Mr. Tridge, in confiden¬ 
tial tones that just reached Mr. Lane’s ears. 



152 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“I’ve pretty well given up hope now,” said Mr. Lock. 
“I begin to think with them others, that he must have 
burned it. If ever he had it, mind you! Perhaps he 
only talked about it to keep me up to the mark as his 
great-nephew. Not that there was any need to do that, 
though,” declared Mr. Lock, rising, as Mr. Tridge re¬ 
moved the towel from his shoulder with a professional 
flourish. “I was always very fond of him for his own 
sake.” 

“Pm sure you was, sir,” agreed Mr. Tridge, with 
sympathy. “But I can’t ’elp thinking you’ve been the 
victim of bad luck.” 

“No use crying over spilt milk,” said Mr. Lock, 
philosophically. “Still, I’d like to have had a sou- 
veneer in memory of him, even if it wasn’t money. But 
by the time I’d got back here, everything had been sold 
and the funeral was all over, as you know.” 

Mr. Tridge nodded, and irrelevantly mentioned the 
sum of threepence, extending his hand at the same time. 
A little light which was shining at the back of his eyes 
abruptly expired when Mr. Lock airily told him to put 
it down on the account, as usual. 

At the departure of Mr. Lock, Mr. Lane took up his 
position in the chair, and for some while Mr. Tridge 
wielded the lather brush in silence. Frequently did 
Mr. Tridge glance in the mirror at his patron, and 
each time he was pleased to note the continuance of a 
meditative look on Mr. Lane’s face. 

“Who was that young chap you were shaving when 
I came in?” asked Mr. Lane at last. “I don’t seem 
to recognize him.” 

“Oh, he’s been about some time,” answered Mr. 
Tridge. “He’s the billiard-marker down at the ‘Royal 
William.’ ” 


HIDDEN TREASURE 


153 


“Is his name, by any chance—er—what is it?—oh, 
yes! Pash ?” 

“No, his name’s Lock, sir—Peter Lock. Funny you 
should have mentioned Pash, though. ’E was related 
to old ’Ennery Pash. You know, sir, the old chap they 
said was a miser.” 

“I’ve heard of him,” admitted Mr. Lane. 

“Mind you, I’ve never really swallowed the yarn that 
’e was a miser,” declared Mr. Tridge. “Only one ’as 
to agree with one’s customers, and show an interest in 
’em, you know. But as for old Pash being a miser— 
I wouldn’t like to bet on it. I know ’e used to ’ave 
a lot of registered letters come for ’im, but that don’t 
prove anything, do it ? And as for that tale about ’im 
being seen with stacks of notes as thick as a pack of 
cards—well, I never met anyone as could swear to it, 
anyway. Besides, they never found none in ’is cottage 
afterwards, though they searched every ’ole and corner. 
Ah, a queer old chap, ’e wos! I can see ’im now, sit¬ 
ting beside ’is fire in that old arm-chair of ’is. ’E 
never stirred from it if ’e could ’elp it. ’E regular 
loved that old chair of ’is. Once ’is chimney caught 
light, and bless me if that chair wasn’t the first thing 
’e thought of to save!” 

“Really?” said Mr. Lane, with interest. 

"And truly,” affirmed Mr. Tridge. “Soon as ever 
that chimney began to blaze, ’e lugged that chair out¬ 
doors. Ah, and ’e wouldn’t leave it, neither, to go in 
and rescue anything else. ’E just sat tight on it there, 
out in the middle of the road, and let some one else 
put out the fire. ’E said ’e wouldn’t leave ’is old chair 
in case some one stole it. A shabby, broken old chair 
like that, fancy!” scornfully concluded Mr. Tridge. 
“No wonder folk thought ’im a bit dotty!” 


154 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Why, perhaps he’d-” exclaimed Mr. Lane 

starting. 

“Steady, sir, or I’ll be cutting you,” warned Mr. 
Tridge. “P’r’aps what, you was a-going to say?” 

“Perhaps—perhaps he was very fond of it,” said Mr. 
Lane, a trifle weakly. 

“I been a-telling you he was,” remarked Mr. Tridge. 
“But there! Old people like ’im often ’ave queer fan¬ 
cies like that!” 

As one dismissing a thoroughly exhausted subject, 
Mr. Tridge turned the talk to the doings of Parlia¬ 
ment, expounding his views with no more interruption 
than an occasional monosyllable interjected in a pre¬ 
occupied way by his client. 

“Let me see, where did you say that young man was 
employed ?” inquired Mr. Lane, when at length Mr. 
Tridge simultaneously ceased his political remarks and 
his tonsorial services. 

“What young man, sir?” 

“Mr.—er—Mr. Pash’s great-nephew.” 

“Oh, along at the ‘Royal William Hotel,’ sir,” said 
Mr. Tridge, turning aside to conceal a satisfied smile. 

It was in the slack hour after tea that same day that 
the billiard-room of the “Royal William” was honoured 
by a first visit from Mr. Thomas Lane. He entered 
coyly, seating himself just inside the door in the most 
unobtrusive manner. Mr. Lock, idly testing his skill at 
the table, accorded the visitor a courteous greeting. 

“No, I don’t want to play, thanks,” replied Mr. Lane. 
“I—I only just looked in, that’s all.” 

“Quite so, sir,” agreed Mr. Lock. 

Mr. Lane offered no further explanation of his pres¬ 
ence, and Mr. Lock walked round the table a few times 
in leisurely pursuit of that perfection which comes to 



HIDDEN TREASURE 


155 


practice. The visitor, watching Mr. Lock’s activity 
through narrowed eyelids, patiently awaited opportu¬ 
nity, and this Mr. Lock presently offered him. 

“Very good table, this, sir,” he observed, casually. 
“Good as any you’ll find in the town.” 

“Dare say,” returned Mr. Lane, absently. 

“I ain’t come across a public table to beat it,” stated 
Mr. Lock. “Of course, I don’t know anything about 
the private tables in the big houses round here. I 
expect there are a few good ones in some of them big 
houses on the cliff. If I was a rich man, I’d have a 
good billiard-table, I know.” 

“I see,” said Mr. Lane, not very brilliantly. 

“Once I did think that maybe I’d have a billiard- 
table of my own,” remarked Mr. Lock, with a smile 
at his own folly. “But it never come off.” 

“How was that ?” asked Mr. Lane, alertly. 

“I was expecting a bit of a legacy,” explained Mr. 
Lock. “Not a big ’un, mind, but I thought if there 
was enough to buy me a billiard-table that ’ud satisfy 
me. It would have kept me in recreation for the rest 
of my life. I’d got my eye on a place to keep it, too, 
and I’d have made a bit of money out of it, one way 
and another.” 

“But-” prompted Mr. Lane. 

“But it wasn’t to be,” said Mr. Lock, with a wistful 
shake of the head. 

“And how was that?” inquired Mr. Lane. “The 
money was left to some one else, eh ?” 

“There wasn’t no money left at all!” Mr. Lock in¬ 
formed him. “Just a sort of mystery, it was. Any¬ 
way, they had to sell the furniture to pay for the funeral, 
and that tells its own tale, don’t it ?” 

“Well, well!” murmured Mr. Lane. 



156 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Not a stick left when I come back on the scene!” 
related Mr. Lock. “I’d like to have had something 
to remember him by, too. Relation of mine, you know, 
he was. ‘Peter,’ he used to say to me, ‘Peter, I par¬ 
ticular wants you to have my old arm-chair when I’m 
gone.’ Always saying that, he was. Why he couldn’t 
have given it to me while he was alive, and have done 
with it, I don’t know.” 

“Perhaps he didn’t want to part with it ?” suggested 
Mr. Lane. 

“That was about it, I expect,” agreed Mr. Lock. 
“He’d certainly got a great fancy for that chair. Why, 
he used to carry it into the bedroom with him at night, 
and bring it down again in the morning. But, there, 
it had clean gone when I got back here.” 

“Couldn’t you find out who’d bought it ?” 

“I did try, sir, but it was no good. You see, it 
was just a sort of Dutch auction, and people paid their 
money down for anything they bought, and took it 
straight away. There was a lot of strangers present, 
too, far as I could make out, and it must have been 
one of them that bought that old chair. A chap from 
the country, some of ’em told me. Dare say that old 
chair’s not more than five miles away at this minute, 
if the truth was known.” 

“Why don’t you—haven’t you advertised for it?” 

“Oh, I ain’t so keen on it as all that, sir,” replied 
Mr. Lock, carelessly. “I can remember the old chap 
well enough, without needing his old arm-chair to re¬ 
mind me of him. I don’t believe in being sentimental, 
sir, when it costs money, and a advertisement would 
cost more than that old chair’s worth. Besides, he won’t 
know now whether I’ve got it or not, and, if he does, 
it can’t make much difference to him, can it, sir?” 


HIDDEN TREASURE 


157 


With these practical remarks, Mr. Lock turned again 
to the billiard-table for interest. Mr. Lane, after sit¬ 
ting meditatively for a long three minutes, rose and 
unostentatiously quitted the room. 

The saloon was well patronized when, a couple of 
hours later, Mr. Horace Dobb strolled in. His eyes 
sought Mr. Lock’s, and, meeting them, a slight upward 
flicker of the brows was perceptible. Mr. Lock nodded 
slowly, once, and Mr. Dobb drifted out again. 

About ten minutes later Mr. Lane, his arms folded 
and his head bent in reverie, was occupying his accus¬ 
tomed seat in the bar-parlour of the “King’s Arms,” 
when a patron entered with a certain reckless joviality 
which compelled attention. Mr. Lane, glancing up 
petulantly at this intrusion on his meditations, recog¬ 
nized the new-comer to be a gentleman who dealt in 
second-hand goods at an establishment in Fore Street. 

“ ’Evening all!” cried Mr. Dobb, exhibiting an un¬ 
usual boisterousness of manner. He clung, swaying 
gently, to the handle of the door, and beamed owlishly 
round on the company. “ ’Evening all—and be blowed 
to the lot of you!” 

The lady behind the counter, with whom it seemed 
that Mr. Dobb was something of a favourite, shook 
her finger at him in surprised reproach, and asked him 
what he meant by it. 

“I been keeping off a cold!” explained Mr. Dobb, 
simply. 

“So I should think!” declared the lady. 

A glassy look came into Mr. Dobb’s orbs, indicating 
purposeful concentration. Releasing his grasp on the 
door, he, as it were, swooped forward and came neatly 
to rest with his elbows on the counter. This feat 
achieved, he gazed about him as one seeking plaudits. 


158 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Been keeping off a cold!” he announced again, and 
performed a little shuffling movement which brought 
him backwards to the centre of the room. “Look at 
me boots!” he invited, proudly. 

“Why, wherever have you been?” asked the lady. 
“All that mud!” 

“I been keeping—I mean, I been out in the country V* 
stated Mr. Dobb, returning to the support offered by 
the bar. 

“Been watercressing by the look of it ?” suggested 
the lady, in playful sarcasm. 

“Business!” said Mr. Dobb portentously, and looked 
round as though to balk the intentions of eavesdroppers. 
“Business!” he repeated, in a whisper, and solemnly 
put his finger to his lips. “Norraword!” he urged 
warningly, and immediately added in the loudest, boast- 
fullest accents: “I’ve had a good day to-day. Bought 
a rare lot of stuff!” 

He waited indecisively a little time, and then, select¬ 
ing the chair adjacent to Mr. Lane’s, sat down on it 
with some abruptness of impact. 

“Wanter buy a nice set of fire-irons?” he inquired, 
winningly. “Beautiful set! Bargain!” 

Mr. Lane replied to the effect that he was adequately 
furnished with fire-irons. 

“Don’t blame you, either!” hazily commented Mr. 
Dobb, and was silent for a brief space. 

“Funny thing about it is,” he remarked next, open¬ 
ing one eye to stare at Mr. Lane challengingly, “ ’alf 
the stuff come from this town to start with. Now, 
ain’t that a rum ’un, eh ?” 

“I dare say,” politely ceded Mr. Lane. 

“Of course it is!” insisted Mr. Dobb, with trucu¬ 
lence. “Me going all the way out there to buy stuff 


HIDDEN TREASURE 


159 


what ’ad come—what ’ad come from Shore’aven to 
start with! It’s a—a cohincydence, that’s what it is! 
Going miles and miles to buy stuff what I could ’ave 
bought at old Pash’s sale, if only I’d been there!” 

“Whose sale did you say ?” quickly asked the other. 

“Never you mind ’oose sale!” returned Mr. Dobb, 
with reserve. “But, ’oosever it was, the stuff I bought 
to-day come from it! See? So don’t go a-contradict- 
ing of me!” 

“I’m not!” protested Mr. Lane. 

“Oh, yes, you was!” asserted Mr. Dobb. “Why 
don’t you let a man finish what ’e’s got to say afore 
you starts to argue ? I’m telling you most of this stuff 
was bought by a chap in several lots to furnish ’is 
cottage.” 

“Indeed ?” said Mr. Lane. 

“There you goes again!” complained Mr. Dobb. 
“Anyway, ’e’s got a job at the other end of the country 
now, and-” 

Mr. Dobb ceased momentarily, and regarded his boots 
with a fond smile. 

“I ’aven’t ’alf been keeping out a cold!” he observed, 
confidentially. “Talk about mud and rain and cold 
winds—’oo’d live in the country, I’d like to know.” 

“Ah!” said Mr. Lane, ingratiatingly. “Who would, 
indeed ?” 

To this Mr. Dobb made no response, being now en¬ 
gaged in inward thought. 

“Who would, indeed ?” said Mr. Lane again. 

“Eh?” demanded Mr. Dobb, returning to wakeful¬ 
ness. 

“Who would live in the country ?” said Mr. Lane. 

“Why, I would!” declared Mr. Dobb. “I love the 
country! All the little dicky-birds and—so on!” 




160 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


He suddenly rose, proclaiming his intention of going 
home to bed as a preventive measure against chill. 
He nodded a protracted, dreary-eyed, good-night to 
each individual of the company present, and then, fes¬ 
tooning across the apartment, noisily negotiated the 
door and passed from view. 

No sooner was Mr. Dobb outside in the street, how¬ 
ever, than his waywardness dropped from him, and, 
congratulating himself on his histrionic powers, he 
walked briskly to his abode. 

Soon after breakfast next morning, Mr. Lane was 
visible in Fore Street. Into half a dozen shop-windows 
did he peer with an air of boredom, nor did his ex¬ 
pression become quickened when at length he ranged 
himself before the jumbled collection of oddments which 
Mr. Dobb exhibited to the passer-by. 

For some moments Mr. Lane affected a lukewarm 
interest in a faded photograph of the Niagara Falls, 
and next he lingered to gaze on a teapot which had 
suffered casualty in its more obtrusive parts. And, 
after that, he stepped into the doorway and pretended 
close scrutiny of a pair of cast-iron dumb-bells, and, 
under cover of this manoeuvre, he glanced into the in¬ 
terior of the shop, and there saw a heterogeneous pile 
of furniture which was evidently awaiting disposal, and 
the most conspicuous item in it was a tattered and 
battered old arm-chair. 

“Ha!” exclaimed Mr. Lane, involuntarily. 

At this juncture Mr. Horace Dobb himself made an 
appearance at the threshold of his shop with evident 
purpose of ascertaining the state of the weather. 

“Good morning, sir!” he said. 

“Good morning—good morning!” returned Mr. Lane, 


HIDDEN TREASURE 


161 


with eager amiability. “Did you keep the cold off all 
right ?” 

“Oh, yes, I kept it; but ’ow did you know I was 
trying to keep a cold off V ’ 

“Why, you told me so last night.” 

“Last night ?” queried Mr. Dobb, shaking his head. 
“Why, I never see you last night, sir.” 

“In the ‘King’s Arms,’ ” prompted Mr. Lane. 

“I never went in the ‘King’s Arms’ last night!” 
denied Mr. Dobb. “I came straight ’ome and went to 
bed. I’m sure of it.” 

Mr. Lane was about to contradict, when it was evi¬ 
dent that he changed his intention. 

“Oh, well, I must have been thinking of some one 
else,” he said, lightly. 

“I don’t know whether you’re interested in furniture, 
sir,” ventured Mr. Dobb. “But I’ve got some stuff in 
new to stock this morning, and-” 

“I don’t mind having a look at it,” admitted Mr. 
Xane, almost skipping into the emporium. 

“There’s a bedstead for you!” cried the vendor, with 
enthusiasm. “Real solid, good stuff. Been in a farm- 
’ouse these ’undred years and more.” 

“I got a bedstead,” said Mr. Lane. 

“What about a sofa ?” asked Mr. Dobb. 

Mr. Lane shook his head. He was giving his atten¬ 
tion to the worn old arm-chair. 

“You don’t expect ever to sell a shabby old thing 
like that, do you?” he asked, artfully. 

“It is a bit knocked about,” confessed Mr. Dobb. 
“But it’s a real fine old chair of its kind. I reckon to 
get a pretty good price for it when it’s been restored. 
I’ll ’ave it restuffed and reup’olstered, and it’ll fetch a 
big price, I lay.” 



162 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“It looks very lumpy/’ observed Mr. Lane, and seized 
the opportunity to prod the sagging seat with his finger. 

He thrilled electrically when his touch encountered 
something vaguely massy and hard in the horsehair 
stuffing. Mr. Dobb, who had planned that thrill with 
the aid of a bulky old volume from the rubbish corner, 
winked pleasantly at the ceiling. 

“I ain’t ’ardly ’ad a good look at it yet,” said Mr. 
Dobb. “It was in with a lot of other things I was 
after, though I meant to ’ave it, of course, soon as ever 
I spotted it. Genuine antike, that is.” 

“Oh, I don’t think so!” said Mr. Lane. 

“Well, it belonged to a old chap ’oo died in Shore- 
’aven ’ere, and ’e’d ’ad it pretty nigh all ’is life, and 
chance it!” contended Mr. Dobb. 

“I wonder the man who bought it then didn’t over¬ 
haul it,” mentioned Mr. Lane, thoughtfully. “Perhaps 
he did ?” he suggested, a little dashed. 

“Ah, ’e meant to, but ’e never ’ad the time,” said 
Mr. Dobb. “ ’E bought it with that idea, ’e told me, 
and ’e took it to ’is cottage in the country, meaning 
to see to it. But ’e ’appened to lose ’is job, and, what 
with finding a fresh one, and then making arrange¬ 
ments to shift ’is family, ’e was so busy that the old 
chair just stayed up in ’is attic, untouched, from the 
time ’e took it ’ome to the time I bought it yesterday.” 

“And what would you be asking for it as it stands V 9 

“Well, I dunno,” mused Mr. Dobb. “It ’ud pay me 
better to touch it up a bit first, I suppose. A genuine 
antike, you know. Still, if anybody was to offer me, 
say—oh, fifteen for it-” 

“Fifteen shillings!” cried Mr. Lane, in excitement. 
“Right you-” 




HIDDEN TREASURE 


163 


“Shillings? No!” scornfully interrupted Mr. Dobb. 
“Pounds, of course!” 

“Why, it’s nowhere near worth that!” 

“It’s worth what it’ll fetch,” said Mr. Dobb. “Any- 
way, by the time I’ve pulled it into shape a bit, 
and-” 

“I’ll give you a couple of pounds for it as it stands,” 
offered Mr. Lane. 

“Why, that ain’t a quarter of what I give for it 
myself!” returned Mr. Dobb. “But I’ve got a set of 
fire-irons what you can ’ave for two quid, if you like,” 
he offered, brightly. 

“I don’t want fire-irons,” said Mr. Lane, pettishly. 

“Well, I don’t take a penny less than fifteen quid 
for that chair. Look at the woodwork! A bit scratched, 
maybe, but sound—sound and ’eavy. They don’t make 
’em like that nowadays.” 

“But fifteen pounds!” murmured Mr. Lane. 

“Oh, I shall get more than that for it wdien I’ve 
squared it up and restored it,” foretold Mr. Dobb, con¬ 
fidently. “Why, I know more than one collector in 
these parts that’ll only be too anxious to secure it soon 
as ever ’e sees it. In a way, I’m doing you a favour 
by giving you first chance.” 

“But fifteen pounds!” protested Mr. Lane. 

“Well, I’ll say twelve as it stands, seeing as I shan’t 
’ave to bother with restoring it. There, twelve! Just 
to make a reg’lar customer of you, only don’t go talk¬ 
ing too much. Why, you can’t get much new in the 

furniture line to-day for twelve; and as for antikes- 

Solid, that’s what it is! ’Ere, ’alf a mo’! I’ll just 
strip the cover off and leave the stuffing aside, and you’ll 
see what a fine strong frame it’s got” 




164 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“No, don’t do that—don’t do that!” babbled Mr. 
Lane, desperately. “It’s all right! I mean, I believe 
you. But—but twelve pounds! I wouldn’t mind go¬ 
ing to—to four, or even five, but—but twelve! It isn’t 
a particularly handsome chair-” 

“But you seem pretty keen to ’ave it, sir, for all 
that,” Mr. Dobb pointed out. “However, please your¬ 
self. If you don’t take it I shall put it in my window 
there, and somebody’s bound to come along and-” 

“You—you couldn’t let me have it on approval for 
a day or two?” suggested Mr. Lane, but not hopefully. 

“No, sir. This is a cash business. But I’ll tell you 
what—if you like to let me take out the stuffing and 
leave it ’ere, I’d knock off a quid. Good ’orse’air’s 
always worth-” 

“No, no. I wan’t it as it is!” 

“Then twelve quid buys it!” 

Mr. Lane again probed the ragged upholstery of the 
seat with an investigatory forefinger. 

“I’ll give you ten,” he offered. 

“You seem to think I ain’t a man of my word,” 
complained Mr. Dobb, indignantly. 

“Ten!” offered Mr. Lane, again. “That’s my limit!” 

Twenty minutes later they had arrived at a com¬ 
promise, and the sum of eleven pounds ten shillings 
changed ownership. With his own hands Mr. Lane 
lifted the chair and staggered out with it to the hand- 
truck Mr. Dobb had obligingly placed at his disposal. 

“There he goes with ’is ’idden treasure,” said Mr.. 
Dobb, smiling, as Mr. Lane’s small back bent in ener¬ 
getic propulsion of his purchase. 

That same evening Mr. Dobb paid thirty shillings 
into the willing grasp of each of his three old ship- 





HIDDEN TREASURE 


165 


mates, and fully endorsed their flattering statements as 
to his mental ingenuity. 

A fortnight elapsed, and then, one afternoon, Mr. 
Lane walked into the emporium. Mr. Dobb, mastering 
a primitive impulse to point derisively at his visitor, 
addressed him in honeyed tones of courtesy. 

“Ain’t seen you lately, sir,” he remarked. 

“I’ve been away,” said Mr. Lane. “Been taking a 
bit of a holiday.” 

“Lucky to be you, sir, to ’ave the money to spare,” 
said Mr. Dobb. “Why, I ain’t seen you, come to think 
of it, not since the morning you bought that antike 
chair off of me. I ’ope you never repented that antike 
bargain, sir?” he asked, with tremulous lips. 

“Well, I must say it didn’t turn out quite as I 
expected,” admitted Mr. Lane; “but I’m not grum¬ 
bling.” 

“Spoke like a sportsman!” declared Mr. Dobb. 

“Eunny thing, when I took that stuffing to bits,” 
observed Mr. Lane. “You’ll never guess what I found 
hidden in the seat ?” 

“Bag o’ gold!” suggested Mr. Dobb. 

“No. An old book!” 

“Never!” breathed Mr. Dobb, incredulously. 

“It’s a fact!” asseverated Mr. Lane. “Believe me 
or believe me not, there was a big, old-fashioned musty 
old book!” 

“Fancy that!” said Mr. Dobb. 

“Surprising, ain’t it ? Anyway, I showed it to a 
friend of mine, and he said it had evidently been hid¬ 
den there because it was very rare.” 

“Sounds possible,” said Mr. Dobb, his eyes watering 
under the strain of enforced gravity. 


166 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“As it happened, my friend was right,” said Mr. 
Lane. “Of course, he knew something about old books, 
and that was why I showed it to him. Anyway, it 
was a rare old first edition, ever so old, and I sent it 
up to London, and sold it for thirty guineas!” 

“What!” cried Mr. Dobb. 

“Sold it for thirty guineas!” repeated Mr. Lane. 
“Thirty guineas for an old book that anyone who didn’t 
know its value might have thrown away.” 

“Don’t believe it!” declared Mr. Dobb, huskily. 

“Well, here’s the cheque,” said Mr. Lane; “and here’s 
the correspondence.” 

Mr. Dobb gazed at the documentary evidence. Then, 
without a word, he tottered into the shop parlour and 
took the unprecedented step of drinking a glass of un¬ 
diluted water. The fortunate Mr. Lane, looking round 
for other chairs to prod and finding none, went out 
of the dusty little emporium into the sunshine. 


EPISODE VIII 


A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 

M R. HORACE DOBB, released from the minis¬ 
trations of the proprietor of the Magnolia Toilet 
Saloon, critically inspected the reflection of his shaven 
chin, and then charged Mr. Joseph Bridge with being 
a niggard as to face-powder. 

“ ’Ere you are!” scornfully said Mr. Tridge, passing 
him the putf. “ ’Elp yourself! Go on! Put some on 
your nose, too. I would, if I was you! Take some 
’ome with you in a paper hag. ’Ere, steady!” he ended, 
snatching the puff out of Mr. Dobb’s hand. “It’s for 
powdering, not whitewashing, remember! 1 ’ 

“You ain’t got a little complexion cream to spare, 
I suppose 2” asked Mr. Dobb, unabashed. “No, I 
thought not. Well, then, what about a little drop o’ 
brilliantine, eh ? This it ? Thanks.” 

“Don’t you he a fool, ’Orace,” earnestly counselled 
Mr. Tridge. “I’m surprised at you, I am, reely! 
Runnin’ after gals at your time of life! What would 
your missis say V 9 

“I ain’t running after no gals,” denied Mr. Dobb. 
“I ain’t even slow-marching after ’em. But I wants 
to look just-so, because I’m making a sort of deboo 
in ’igh society this evening.” 

“Fish supper with the dook and duchess, I suppose V 9 
ironically hazarded Mr. Tridge. 

“No; but it’s the opening night at the theayter to¬ 
night,” explained Mr. Dobb, “and I’m going to sit 

167 


168 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


somewhere near the front seats. ’Ow’s that for getting 
on in life, eh ?” 

“Eree complimentaries,” diagnosed Mr. Tridge, “for 
promising to show window-bills. Why, I'Ve got orders 
for two myself.” 

“ ’Ave yon though ?” said Mr. Dobb, a little dashed 
by this discounting of his social value. “Why, I was 
going to hinvite you to come along with me. We 
could ’ave tossed up to see ’oo paid for the programme. 
If you don’t come, I shall only ’ave to take the missis, 
and I don’t want to waste a seat deliberate like that, if 
I can ’elp it.” 

“I’ve asked Peter Lock to come along with me,” re¬ 
turned Mr. Tridge. “It’s ’is night off from the billiard- 
room. ’Ere, what about asking old Sam Clark, eh ? 
The four of us going together to the theayter like 
we used to do in the good old, had old days of the 
Mane Gladys.’ ” 

“Right-o!” agreed Mr. Dobb, very readily. “Any¬ 
thing to hencourage my missis in ’oine life. We’ll all 
four go together. But no getting chucked out in a 
bunch, though, mind,” he stipulated. “I’ve got busi¬ 
ness reasons for not wanting to upset the chap what’s 
running the theayter now.” 

“It’s a noo management,” mentioned Mr. Tridge. 

“I know. It’s the fifth noo management in fourteen 
months, so they tells me. Shore’aven don’t seem what 
you might call a hartistic place, do it ? Specially when 
they done Shakespeare six weeks ago. Only done ’im 
once, they did, but that was enough. That was what 
reely led to the sale.” 

“What sale?” inquired Mr. Tridge. 

“Why, the last time it shut. They ? ad a sale of 
fixtures up there, when the creditors wouldn’t take out 


A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


169 


their money in tickets. That was where the glass shan- 
dyleary came from. 7 ’ 

“Shandy-’ow-much ?” demanded Mr. Tridge. 

“Shandyleary. I’ve got it in my shop now. I bought 
it off a chap wdiat bought it at the sale. Great big 
thing it is, what used to ’ang in the centre of the roof. 
’Andsome thing it is, too, in its way, all made of sparkly 
bits of glass as big as- 77 

“As big as a secondhand dealer’s Sunday scarfpin, 77 
pointedly suggested Mr. Tridge. 

“Aye, pretty nigh, 77 accepted Mr. Dobb, with com¬ 
placency. “I 7 m going to sell it back soon to the chap 
;what’s running the theayter now. 77 

“Does 7 e know you 7 re going to ?” 

“Not yet, 7 e don’t, 77 admitted Mr. Dobb. “Why, 
7 e don’t even know I’ve got it yet. But I’ve got some 
one to sound 7 im to see whether ’e’s at all inclined to 
buy it, and 7 e said 7 e won’t ’ave it at no price. But 
it takes two to make a quarrel, don’t it ? Anyway, 
whether 7 e reely wants it or not, ’e’s going to buy it.” 

“And ’ow are you going to make ’im do that ?” in¬ 
quired Mr. Tridge, with every faith in his old ship¬ 
mate’s commercial omnipotence. 

“Ah, I ain’t thought quite so far as that yet,” con¬ 
fessed Mr. Dobb. “All I’ve fixed in my mind is that 
7 e’s going to give me thirty-five quid for that shandy- 
leary. It’s old Joe Bindley, that retired builder chap, 
what’s the noo proprietor, you know. E bought up 
the theayter cheap, as a speckylation, and ’e reckons to 
make a big success out of it. You ought to ’ear ’im talk 
about what ’e’s going to do at ’is theayter! Anyone 
might think that the next war was going to be per- 
dooced there as a front piece to the big play of the 
evening.” 



170 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“I see Vs starting with a month’s hengagement, 
straight off, of the world-famous hactress, Miss Margu- 
reety Delafayne,” observed Mr. Tridge, studying a 
printed announcement on his wall. “ ’Oo’s she, any¬ 
way? It’s the first time I’ve ’eard of ’er.” 

“Ah, she’s one of the good-old-might-’ave-been- 
p’r’apsers,” Mr. Dobb somewhat ungallantly informed 
him. “Not that she ain’t still a fine figure of a woman, 
far as golden ’air and a sealskin coat and light blue 
satin goes. But hact ? Oh, dear me, no! It’s more 
like a fit of the dismals that hacting. Bindley reckons 
she’s going to get all the neighbourhood into the reg’lar 
’abit of coming to ’is theayter. She’s more likely to 
cure ’em of the ’abit, to my way of thinking.” 

“You’ve seen ’er, then?” 

“I paid to see ’er hact once, at Yarmouth. I’ve 
always reckoned I’ve been three pints out from that 
day to this. Well, I’m off now to fix up with old Sam 
Clark.” 

“Meet you outside the show at seven-thirty,” said 
Mr. Tridge. “Mind you ain’t late.” 

“I never am late,” replied Mr. Dobb simply, “when 
there’s something for nothing.” 

Thus it was ordained, and thus it came about that 
a few hours later, four contiguous seats at the Shore- 
haven Theatre were occupied by that old-established 
fellowship of graduates from the baneful academy of 
the “Jane Gladys.” From the time of their proces¬ 
sional entry to the rising of the curtain on the play, 
each of the quartet expressed his individuality in his 
customary manner. 

Mr. Horace Dobb, reflecting very patently the pros¬ 
perity of the little shop he had married, leaned back 
in his seat with an air of bored patronage and made 


A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


171 


great play with a ring which, when happily it canght 
the light at a certain elusive angle, gleamed quite vis¬ 
ibly. Mr. Joseph Tridge, wearing something new and 
very arrestive in the way of check suitings, could not 
but be correspondingly sportive and genial in the trucu¬ 
lent, domineering manner. Mr. Peter Lock, trim and 
brisk and debonair as ever, maintained a joyous flow 
of scandal about such of the attendance present as had 
their secret histories discussed in the billiard-room of 
the “Royal William.' 7 And the plump and venerable 
Mr. Samuel Clark, his rubicund face aglow with happi¬ 
ness in the reunion, beamed impartially on all around 
him, and with a conspicuous, festooning forefinger, beat 
time to the orchestra’s overture. 

But soon after the commencement of the play there 
developed changes of temperament, subtle and slight at 
first, but broadening progressively as the performance 
continued. And thus, before the curtain had descended 
on the first act, Mr. Peter Lock’s brightness was quite 
gone, and he was sitting in a round-shouldered way, 
with his arms drooping limply down beside him, while 
the eyes with which he regarded the stage had in them 
nothing but dull resignation. 

And Mr. Joseph Tridge was fast asleep, and even 
snoring a little, though this was a venial transgression 
which appeared to arouse only the emotion of envy 
among his neighbours. And Mr. Horace Dobb had 
ceased to look patronizing, but had retained an added 
intensity to his expression of boredom, and had now 
come to vehement sighings at frequent intervals. 

But Mr. Clark showed no such unfavouring listless¬ 
ness towards the performance as his companions were 
exhibiting. Manifestly to the contrary, Mr. Clark was 
craning forward in his seat with so eager an interest 


172 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


in the drama that he was quite unconscious of the re¬ 
pressive glances continually directed at him over her 
shoulder by the lady whose chair-back he was gripping 
in his excitement. His face betokened the raptest con¬ 
centration of attention, and several times he had offered 
audible and emphatic comment on the goodness of the 
play, and once he had even stared round him challeng- 
ingly to see why no one endorsed his high opinions. 

And when at length the curtain swept down to ter¬ 
minate the first act, there would have been a complete 
silence in the auditorium had not Mr. Clark at once 
begun to beat his vast palms together in emphatic ap¬ 
proval. A few hirelings of the management, posted 
remotely about the building, rather timidly followed 
Mr. Clark’s lead, and the curtain, after billowing un¬ 
certainly for a while, rose again to reveal Miss Margu¬ 
erite Delafayne standing solitary on the stage. In a 
way that was not entirely devoid of defiance, Miss 
Delafayne began to bow her acknowledgments of the 
tributes to her art. 

“Brayvo!” cried Mr. Clark, leaping to his feet and 
achieving an almost cyclonic quality in his applause. 
“Brayvo \ v 

Miss Delafayne, moved by such warm partisanship 
in an otherwise unresponsive world, looked straight at 
Mr. Clark and curtseyed in the most queenly manner in 
his direction. Mr. Clark, placing his fingers to his lips, 
was about to pay the lady still greater homage, when she 
went on to bow to a pseudo-enthusiastic programme- 
seller at the back of the gallery, and Mr. Clark sat down 
with a dazed but happy expression on his face. 

The curtain descended again, and immediately a 
heavy, discouraged hush enwrapped the theatre. 


A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


173 


“Well, tliank goodness we ain’t bought a programme, 
anyway!” said Mr. Dobb, at last breaking silence. 

T’m going to buy one now,” announced Mr. Clark. 

‘‘Don’t you be an old fool, Sam,” urged Mr. Tridge. 
“I shouldn’t ’ave thought anyone would want to know 
more about this blessed show than they could ’elp.” 

“I want to know the—the scenes and—and the 
names,” explained Mr. Clark, hesitantly. 

‘‘Then borrer a programme, if you must know the 
worst,” counselled Mr. Tridge. 

“I—I want one to keep,” stated Mr. Clark, shyly. 

“To keep?” exclaimed Mr. Tridge. 

“Sam,” observed the perspicacious Mr. Dobb, 
“you’re a gay old dorg!” 

“Did you see ’er look at me ?” demanded Mr. Clark, 
in a burst of senile vanity. “Straight at me!” 

“I’d just as soon be looked at by a sack of flour!” 
declared Mr. Tridge; and instantly there arose a quarrel 
so bitter that, in the interests of peace, Mr. Dobb had 
to take the extreme step of curtailing it by offering 
to pay for refreshment at some convenient hostelry 
outside. 

Mr. Tridge, closing at once with this invitation, rose 
to follow Mr. Dobb from the building, and so did Mr. 
Lock. Mr. Clark, however, created a blank amazement 
by returning an unprecedented answer to such an 
offer. 

“We might be late and miss a bit of the next hact,” 
he explained; and his companions, after solemnly 
shaking their heads at each other for some moments, 
went silently away. 

They did not return in time for the next act, nor for 
the next act after that, though such were Mr. Clark’s 



174 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


blissful preoccupations of mind that he did not notice 
the defection of his comrades until he was passing 
through the lobby at the conclusion of the performance. 
And even then he went back into the auditorium to 
look for his friends, and was much mystified by their 
disappearance. 

It was three days later ere Mr. Clark and Mr. Dobb 
again met. Mr. Dobb, finding himself near the ferry, 
had strolled thither to have a few words with his old 
shipmate. To his surprise, he found a substitute on 
duty in the ferry-boat, and discovered from that gentle¬ 
man that for the last three days Mr. Clark, utilizing his 
favourite explanation of colic, had been making holi¬ 
day and seemingly intended to make holiday for several 
days longer. 

Mr. Dobb, learning that the present whereabouts of 
Mr. Clark were unknown to his informant, strolled back 
into the town, and, at the corner of the High Street, 
he encountered Mr. Clark. 

“ Hilo!” said Mr. Clark, awkwardly. 

“Why ain’t you at the ferry ?” asked Mr. Dobb. 

“That’s my business, ’Orace,” stated Mr. Clark, 
restively. 

“I know it is!” retorted Mr. Dobb. “That’s why 
I’m asking you why you ain’t there!” He appre¬ 
hended the gala nature of Mr. Clark’s attire, and started 
in surprise. “You—you ain’t been love-making, ? ave 
you, Sam—not on your wages ?” he asked. 

“No such luck!” replied Mr. Clark, ruefully. 
“But,” he added, “I know where she lodges, anyway.” 
“ ’Oo ?” 

“Why, Miss Margureety Delafayne,” replied Mr. 
Clark, voicing the name in cadences of mournful 
satisfaction. 


A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


175 


“Oh, ’er!” said Mr. Dobb, with scant interest. 
“I’d forgot all about that, and I thought you ’ad, too. 
You generally does.” 

“I’ve been watching ’er go in and out of ’er front 
door these last two days,” stated the love-lorn Mr. 
Clark. “Watched, unbeknown, from the corner of 
the road, I ’ave. I’ve just come from there now. Are 
you going to the theayter to-night ?” 

Mr. Dobb’s reply was pietistic in form. 

“Well, Vm going,” said Mr. Clark. “I ain’t missed a 
performance yet.” 

And with that proud boast he went on his way, and 
Mr. Dobb resumed his homeward path. Passing the 
Magnolia Toilet Saloon, a salvo of taps upon the 
window claimed his attention, and glancing inside, he 
found himself being beckoned imperatively by the 
proprietor. 

“Peter Lock’s looking all over the place for you,” 
Mr. Tridge informed him. “ ’E wants you to ’urry 
round to the ‘Royal William’ soon as ever you can.” 

“ Why, what’s up ?” 

“The chap ’oose wife tried to poison ’im with the 
big eyes-” replied Mr. Tridge, a trifle obscurely. 

“Poison ’im with big eyes?” murmured Mr. Dobb, 
grappling with the enigma. 

“In the first hact,” supplied Mr. Tridge, helpfully. 
“So Peter says. I was asleep.” 

“Oh, now I know! Well, what about ’im ?” 

“ ’E’s practising ’is billiards at the ‘Royal William.’ 
Peter thought ’e might come in useful somewhere, some¬ 
time, some’ow. You know—that glass shandyleary 
of yours.” 

Mr. Dobb, without wasting time on mere social 
amenities, straightway turned and set out for the 



176 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Royal William.” Entering tlie billiard-room, be 
found it to be occupied by but two persons. Of these, 
one was the marker, Mr. Peter Lock, and the other was 
an individual of attenuated physique, theoretically 
clean-shaven, but actually rather blue-chinned. A top 
hat, worn occipitally, graced the stranger’s head, and 
an overcoat, featuring some kind of strange fur on its 
collar, hung on a peg behind the door. These clues, in 
conjunction with Mr. Tridge’s foreword, enabled Mr. 
Dobb to exploit the occasion without further assistance 
from Mr. Lock. 

Waiting till his old shipmate held temporary pos¬ 
session of the table, Mr. Dobb approached the other 
gentleman in a manner which can only be described as 
reverential. 

“I ’ope you’ll pardon me for the liberty I’m taking, 
sir,” he observed, “but, of course, I recognize you by 
sight, and I want to thank you for the treat you give me 
the other night.” 

“I—I don’t remember,” returned the stranger. 
“Was it here, or at-” 

“At the theayter, sir. The way you done your 
part!” breathed Mr. Dobb. “It was wonderful!” 

“Oh, that!” exclaimed the other, with marked grati¬ 
fication. 

“Most lienjoyable, sir! Most hinteresting! Most— 
most hartistic!” 

“Very good of you, sir, to say so. Of course it’s a 
strong part, to begin with, and-” 

“Ah, but it takes a strong hactor to make the most 
of a strong part,” contended Mr. Dobb. 

“Well, I must confess that that big scene I have in 
the second act-” 





A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


177 


“Splendid!” roundly asserted Mr. Dobb. “I reg’lar 
? ad to grip my chair.” 

“And then at the very end, you know,” went on the 
other, with ready enthusiasm, “when I come forward 
and say, ‘So, madam, we meet again-’ ” 

“Don’t know when I’ve been more thrilled,” said 
Mr. Dobb; and turned to frown his disapproval of a 
slight hissing noise Mr. Lock was making behind his 
palm. 

“Got a bit of a cold, sir,” explained Mr. Lock; and 
retired into his handkerchief for some moments. 

“A wonderful performance, sir,” said Mr. Dobb, 
addressing the stranger again. “And that of your 
good lady, too—Miss Delafayne, I mean. Most-” 

“Miss Delafayne is not my wife, sir. I appreciate 
the privilege of being her business manager, but as for 

being her husband- In short, her temper! The 

artistic temperament, of course—the artistic tempera¬ 
ment, but- As a matter of fact, Miss Delafayne is 

indeed Miss Delafayne—she is unmarried. However, 
you were kind enough to be talking of my humble 
talents-” 

“And marvellous indeed they are!” declared Mr. 
Dobb. “And I’m glad to ’ave ’ad the chance, sir, of 
thanking you for the pleasure your performance give 
me. And I should be much honoured if you’d allow 
me to offer you some refreshment on the strength of it.” 

Very graciously did the other permit Mr. Dobb to 
achieve this distinction, and Mr. Lock at once performed 
the necessary evolutions with a tray. 

“Your very good ’ealth, Mr.—er-” said Mr. Dobb. 

“Let me see, what is it? I forgets the name, just for 
the minnit, but I remember the face. ’Oo could ever 











178 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


forget it, after ’aving seen it once—on the stage, I 
mean ?” 

“Bellaby,” declaimed the gentleman in a fine, rolling 
voice—“Marmaduke Bellaby, sir, at your service.” 

Of the swift development that thereupon character¬ 
ized the friendship thus began, it is unnecessary to write 
in detail. Suffice it to say that within thirty minutes 
Mr. Dobb was being addressed, with great frequency, 
as “laddie.” And, as a pendant to this, it may be 
added that, at an hour perilously close to that appointed 
for the raising of the curtain at the theatre, Mr. Bellaby 
hurriedly emerged from the portal of the “Royal 
William” and went up the road at a trot, already fum¬ 
bling alarmedly among his tie and collar-stud and 
waistcoat buttons as he ran. A cordial invitation he 
had extended at the last moment to Mr. Dobb to witness 
the performance again that evening as a guest was 
refused, regretfully but very definitely, on the score of 
a previous engagement. 

“Not likely!" said Mr. Dobb to Mr. Lock, when they 
were alone. “Once bit, twice jolly, blessed careful! 
But I’m glad you sent for me, Peter. I think ’e’ll be 
useful—when I can see my way to using ’im. Anyway, 
I’m meeting ’im again to-morrow, and I shall take 
partic’lar good care to meet ’im again and again for the 
next few days, and ’oo knows what’s going to ’appen 
in this strange world ?” 

“You do!” answered Mr. Lock. “Very often, any¬ 
way !” 

Superfluous is it to say that Mr. Dobb kept to his 
expressed intentions with regard to the gifted Mr. 
Bellaby, for to beat along convivial paths in quest of 
profitable quarry was ever the form of sportsmanship 
that appealed most strongly to Mr. Dobb. 




A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


179 


So that Mr. Dobb and Mr. Bellaby became tbe closest 
of intimates within a very brief while, and there were 
few of bis spare hours which Mr. Bellaby did not pass 
in the company of Mr. Dobb. And this was a state of 
affairs which naturally exercised a financial reaction 
upon the latter gentleman, though he bore philosophi¬ 
cally with the expenditure in expectation of the reward 
it would bring him eventually. 

For the moment, however, he had to admit to himself 
that the precise means to secure this reward was a 
matter which obstinately eluded his ingenuity, so that 
his boon companionship with Mr. Bellaby had in it 
something of that same fatalistic force which impels 
the gambler to continue to wager optimistically on the 
same unsuccessful racehorse. 

And so, for several days, the friendship bloomed in 
profuse flower, and behind Mr. Dobb’s artless joviality 
and pride in the companionship of the gifted Mr. 
Bellaby there was no hint of the problem that obsessed 
his mind. It was only when Mr. Dobb was alone that 
geniality dropped from him and was succeeded by a 
morose calculativeness. 

And this was his mood one evening when, parting 
from Mr. Bellaby at the very stage-door with the 
expressed intention of attending to certain neglected 
business, he encountered the love-sick Mr. Samuel 
Clark. 

Dull and vacant was the look in Mr. Clark’s eyes, 
dejected was the hump of his shoulders. Had not 
Mr. Dobb accosted him he would have passed straight 
on, so apathetic was the stout ferryman towards his 
surroundings. 

“ ’Ullo, Misery!” greeted Mr. Dobb. 


180 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“ ’Ullo, ’Orace,” returned Mr. Clark, in slow, un¬ 
happy tones. 

“When’s the wedding coming off ?” bantered Mr. 
Dobb. 

Mr. Clark started violently and said something 
reprehensible about Mr. Dobb’s inquisitiveness. 

“What—is it all off, Sam?” teased Mr. Dobb. 

“It are! Not that there was any real chance of it 
ever being on, but—but-•” 

He shook his head dolefully and added an unkind 
aspiration with regard to Mr. Joseph Bindley’s future 
state. 

“Why, what’s ’e to do with it ?” 

“Heverything! Mind you, I was never fool enough 
to think that a girl like ’er—well a woman like ’er, 
then,” he amended, in deference to Mr. Dobb’s startled 
exclamation—“that a woman like ’er would ever take 
to a old chap like me. I admit I was romantical, but— 
but one never knows, do one ?” 

“You might ’ave been ’er ideal, Sam,” conceded 
Mr. Dobb. “As you says, one can’t ever know for 
sure.” 

“Of course, if ever I’d got to know ’er properly-” 

said Mr. Clark. “I did once fetch a cab for ’er,” he 
went on, smiling pathetically at the happy memory. 
“And she thanked me and give me tlirippence. At 
least, she sent it out to me with ’er thanks. I ain’t ever 
spoke to ’er, reely. And now that ’ere Bindley-” 

He stopped emotionally, and then again voiced an un¬ 
charitable interest in Mr. Bindley’s eventual destination. 

“Yes; but what’s Bindley to do with it ?” asked Mr. 
Dobb. “This is a free country, ain’t it ?” 

“Bindley’s a-carrying on with ’er!” stated Mr. Clark, 
passionately. “I’ve been keeping my heye on ’er, so 





A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


181 


I know. This last day or two I’ve stood ’elpless at the 
corner of ’er road and seen ’im call for ’er and take ’er 
out time and time again. Good as hengaged to each 
other, they are, so ’er landlady’s ’usband’s brother told 
me—and learning that cost me one and seven. Yes; 
and this very hafternoon I see ’em side by side on a seat 
on the cliffs, where I’d followed ’em, and they was 
playing slap-’ands, if you please. What do you make of 
that ?” 

“You’ll ’ave to promise to he nothing more than a 
brother to ’er, after all, Sam,” said Mr. Dobb, with an 
unsympathetic levity which caused his companion to 
stare at him in a wounded way and then stalk offendedly 
on. 

Mr. Dobb, resuming his way, reached his abode, and 
sat down in an arm-chair to indulge in meditation. At 
the end of twenty minutes he leaped to his feet. 

“Good enough !” he cried, joyously. 

Mr. Marmaduke Bellaby, sauntering abroad on the 
morrow, found himself met by Mr. Dobb. In this there 
was no novelty, nor was there in their consequent 
adjournment to the “Royal William.” 

“And ’ow did the show go last night ?” asked Mr. 
Dobb. 

“Great, laddie, great!” returned the other, though 
not entirely convincingly. 

“ ’Ave a crowded haudience ?” 

Mr. Bellaby regarded Mr. Dobb quizzically. 

“Well, we didn’t exactly have to turn them away 
from the doors,” he confessed. 

“I know,” said Mr. Dobb. “I ’appened to look in 
later on.” 

“What for ?” 

“To make certain,” replied Mr. Dobb. “You see, 



182 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS’" 


between yon and me, it’s no secret that business is 
rotten at the theayter, is it? And it certainly was 
rotten last night—not half it wasn’t, was it ?” 

“Been like that all the week,” gloomily said Mr. 
Bellaby. 

“Well, that could be haltered,” observed Mr. Dobb. 
sagely. “I got a idea. Do us both good, it will.” 

“What’s the scheme ?” 

“Lose ’er jewels,” whispered Mr. Dobb, mysteriously. 

Mr. Bellaby, with a superior smile, stigmatized the 
suggestion as both stale and threadbare. To this Mr. 
Dobb replied that, elaborated according to the notion 
he had in mind, the artifice would none the less prove 
successful. 

“Mind you, it’s quite time we did something,” 
frankly conceded Mr. Bellaby. “Talk about frosts! 
She was saying to me only yesterday that if things 

didn’t improve- Of course for my own sake, I’d 

like things to improve, but what can one do ? We’d all 
like to hit on something good. But as for losing her 
jewels, my dear old boy—oh, my dear old boy!” 

“Never mind if they did start the idea in the year 
dot,” retorted Mr. Dobb. “The Shore’aven public 
ain’t too used to the idea to sit up and take notice, 
anyway. She’s got plenty of jew’l’ry to lose, ain’t she? 
Eor myself, I never ’eard anyone rattle quite so much on 
the stage as she do. Of course, we knows it ain’t real, 
but-” 

“It’s such an old, old scheme, though, laddie,” 
objected Mr. Bellaby. 

“You wait and listen to me. I tell you candid that I 
want this idea worked because it’s bound to be a good 
hadvertisement for me as well as for ’er. She’ll get 




A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


183 


most good out of it. People’ll talk about it, and they’ll 
flock to see ’er at the theayter. But they’ll ’ear 
about my business, too, and that’s what I want.” 

“Well, let’s hear, anyway,” said Mr. Bellaby. 

“It begins with ’er ’aving ’er jew’l’ry stole. That’s 
to say, you arrange things with ’er, and brings the whole 
lot down to me secret. Well, next thing, you plasters 
all over the town a full list of the missing jewels, except, 
of course, there’s no need to use the word limitation. ’ ” 

“Of course not,” agreed Mr. Bellaby. 

“You ’eads the bill ‘One ’Undred Pounds Reward,’ 
promising that to anyone assisting in the recovery of ’er 
jewels. And you lets the town study that ’ere bill for a 
day or two. And then a chap brings the jewels to my 
shop and tries to get me to buy ’em.” 

“Eh ?” 

“ ’E can’t read print,” explained Mr. Dobb, with a 
wink, “so ’e don’t know about them bills. I charges 
’im with ’aving stolen ’em, and am just going to send 
for the police, when ’e clears out in a ’urry, leaving the 
jewels with me.” 

“Ah, now I see!” observed the other. 

“Hexactly. I’ve ’ad ’em all the time. Well, I now 
applies for the reward. The affair ’as got into the 
papers, and every one’s talking about it. There’s a 
special performance, where she wears all ’er recovered 
jew’l’ry, and you ’ave me up on the stage and ’and over 
the reward to me—simply a bit of blank paper in a 
henvelope, of course, but I get a little publicity and she 
gets a lot of publicity, and-” 

“Not at all bad,” commended Mr. Bellaby. “You 
being a local man, it looks much more genuine.” 

“In course it do. That’s just the idea.” 




184 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“ ’Pon my word, it’s worth doing. Come to think 
of it, though, there’s no need for the jewels to leave her 
possession really. As long as they’re hidden-” 

“Why, that’s just where you miss the best part of 
it!” urged Mr. Dobb. “When that chap runs out of 
my shop, the jewels is spilled all over the place. If 
you like, ’e ’alf stuns me too, to prevent persoot. I 
know one or two safe chaps what can be passing a 
minute or two after it’s supposed to ’ave ’appened, and 
they can ’elp gather up the jewels and bathe my fore’ead 
and so on. ’Ow’s that for a yarn for the ‘Shore’avert 
Gazette,’ eh ? Why, it’s as good as a play in itself.” 

Mr. Bellaby, critically examining the project in all 
its facets, came at last to the warmest agreement as to 
its merits, and there followed a period of undertones. 
Then, to demonstrate his zeal in her cause, Miss Dela- 
fayne’s manager straightway departed to set the scheme 
before her, and Mr. Dobb ordered himself a drink, 
which, before he consumed it, he waved at his reflection 
in a mirror. 

In a short while Mr. Bellaby buoyantly returned. He 
told Mr. Dobb that Miss Delafayne had been suffering 
very severely indeed from her artistic temperament 
when first he had broached the subject to her, but he had 
left her in the sunniest and most compliant of moods. 
Mr. Joseph Bindley, too, it seemed, was thoroughly con¬ 
vinced of the merits of the scheme, and had directed 
that his name, as proprietor of the theatre, should 
figure in conjunction with Miss Delafayne’s as offerers 
of the reward. 

Things being thus satisfactorily in trim, Mr. Bellaby 
departed again to compile an imaginative list of the 
jewellery to be lost by the world-famous actress. This 
done, he left the catalogue with a printer for immediate 



A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


185 


attention, and repaired once more to the “Royal 
William,” where he handed to Mr. Dobb an undis¬ 
tinguished-looking parcel. 

Mr. Dobb, returning home a little later with this 
packet under his arm, was hailed by Mr. Tridge from 
the latter’s doorway. 

“What you got there, ’Orace?” asked Mr. Tridge, 
curiously. 

“A order for a glass shandyleary,” replied Mr. Dobb; 
and passed on with lightsome step. 

That same evening the town of Shorehaven found 
itself furnished with material for thrilling gossip, for 
scarce a thoroughfare was there that did not exhibit 
somewhere adown its length the tally of the jewels that 
the talented lady temporarily living in their midst had 
had the misfortune to lose. In front of every printed 
handbill, with its fascinating heading of “£100 
Reward,” there lingered an absorbed group, reading 
amazedly of ropes of pearls, and large and small 
diamond brooches, of valuable rubies, and rare metals. 
The manner of their disappearance, and the scene 
whence they had vanished, were details tactfully left 
vague, so that the ends of publicity were further served 
by this opportunity to speculate whether the noted 
absent-mindedness of genius or mere criminal avarice 
were responsible for the lady’s loss. 

For two full days the town theorized and clicked its 
tongue, and spoke either sympathetically or sneeringly 
of the affair. Attendance at the theatre suddenly 
improved, and appreciation which had been denied to 
Miss Delafayne as a performer was now showered on 
her as a lady who was supporting material loss with 
great dignity. Sceptics there certainly were, but these 
were in a minority, and their number would have been 


186 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


even less had that perfervid admirer, Mr. Samuel Clark, 
had the physical powers to convert those disbelievers he 
happened to encounter. 

And then one afternoon Mr. Horace Dobb sent a 
dictatorial and even arrogant message to Mr. Joseph 
Bindley, demanding that gentleman’s attendance at 
the little shop in Fore Street at once. Mr. Bindley, 
a gentleman plain of speech and blunt of manner, went 
immediately to Mr. Dobb to ask him what he meant by 
such a message. 

“I got a glass shandyleary what belongs by rights to 
the ceiling of your theayter,” returned Mr. Dobb, 
equably, “and I want to sell it to you.” 

Mr. Bindley, as became a man who had attained the 
position of theatrical proprietor, heatedly gave his 
opinion of such impertinence and strode to the door. 

“Ain’t you rather mixed up with me to act so 
’aughty ?” asked Mr. Dobb, in civil accents. 

Mr. Bindley halted and swung round to stare at Mr. 
Dobb. 

“Don’t you get trying to play any tricks with me!” 
he warned Mr. Dobb. “We’ve got a understanding, 
and you stick to it, and I stick to it, and there’s an end 
of it! I don’t want no ’anky-panky!” 

“Thirty-five quid—that was what I was going to ask 
for that shandyleary,” mentioned Mr. Dobb. “Only 
I’ve ’ad a lot of hincidental expenses with it lately, so 
I’m asking thirty-eight now. And it’s worth it—well 
worth it. You ’ave a look at it, and you’ll say so, too. 
It’s a bargain.” 

“What’s the game ?” said Mr. Bindley, aggressively. 
“What are you trying on—a sort of blackmail ?” 

“Well, yes, that’s what it really is,” acquiesced Mr. 


A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


187 


Dobb, very smoothly. “Only you call it that again, and 
up goes the price a quid a time! See ?” 

Mr. Bindley, snorting, laid his palm on the handle of 
the door. 

“They tells me Miss Delafayne ’as got a dooce of a 
temper / 7 observed Mr. Dobb, irrelevantly. 

Mr. Bindley plucked open the door and marched out. 
Five yards away he halted and came back again to the 
threshold. 

“What’s that got to do with it ?” he demanded. 

“It’s a lovely shandyleary , 77 declared Mr. Dobb. 

“To blazes with your shandyleary, and you too ! 77 
bawled the choleric Mr. Bindley. “Why don’t you 
speak straight out ? 77 

“Just what I 7 m going to , 77 answered Mr. Dobb; and 
abruptly abandoned his pose of suavity. “Look 7 ere, 
Bindley, I’ve got you tied up tight! See? ’Ere, 
glance at that little notice on the wall there. ‘Strictly 
Business ! 7 that says, don’t it ? Well, that’s my motter. 
I’ve been planning to sell you that shandyleary, and 
I’m going to.” 

“Huh!” scornfully returned Mr. Bindley. 

“Huh-ing or no huh-ing, I’m going to! You can’t 
? elp yourself. You’ve been trying a bit of artfulness 
with the public over them lost jewels, so you can’t 
squeal if some one else tries ’is artfulness on you. Fust 
of all, you don’t mind admitting I’ve got that parcel of 
coloured beads and brass, do you ? Suppose I goes and 
calls in the first ten chaps I meet outside and tells ’em 
? ow that jew’l’ry come into my ’ands ? That would 
make you look pretty foolish, wouldn’t it ?” 

“I could say you stole them.” 

“Not good enough. I can prove any amount of 


188 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


alleybys. I could prove there couldn’t be no other way 
they could ’ave got into my ’ands except through 
Bellaby.” 

“I could say he stole them, and you were the 
receiver.” 

“Yes, so you could,” agreed Mr. Dobb; “and we 
wouldn’t ’alf ’ave a chatty time in the dock explaining 
’ow it all really came about. They wouldn’t overlook 
your trying to deceive ’em, as you ’ave done, in a ’urry.” 

“So, I’m to buy the shandyleary to prevent the truth 
coming out, am I ?” said Mr. Bindley, not without 
admiration. “It’s pretty smart, but not smart 
enough.” 

“You’ve been smart enough in your time, from what 
they tells me about you,” returned Mr. Dobb. “You 
ought to be smart enough now to see you’re cornered. 
Why, I’ve got you any number of ways. I could sue 
you for the reward, for example, if I went about the 
thing carefully.” 

“Well, couldn’t I deny they were the jewels? They 
won’t agree exact with the description, you know.” 

“Ah, I thought you might say that! That’s my 
trump card. You say they ain’t ’er jewels? Very 
well, I hexibits the ’ole jolly collection in the very front 
of my window, and pastes the reward bill over ’em, and 
writes a paper beside ’em what says: ‘These jewels 
’ave been found and ’ave not been claimed by anyone. 
They are all false, and Miss Margureety Delafayne says 
they ain’t ’ers.’ That’ll start people putting two and 
two together, won’t it ?” 

“Let ’em!” cried Mr. Bindley, forcefully. “Before 
ever I’ll be blackmailed out of-” 

“Easy enough to talk like that,” said Mr. Dobb, 
reproachfully. “But ’aven’t you any consideration 



A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


189 


for *er? Why soon as ever the story gets round the 
town, she’ll be the laughing-stock of the place. ’Er 
and ’er false jewellery will be ’eld up to ridicule 
wherever she goes. Besides, a little bird ’as told me that 
you and ’er are doing a bit of courting. Well, if what 
I’ve ’eard of ’er temper is true, she’ll ’ave something to 
say to you for allowing ’er to be made ridic’lous like 
that, when you could ’ave prevented it. Straight, if I 
was you, Bindley, I wouldn’t lose a fiancy like that and 
a bargain of a shandyleary for thirty-nine paltry quid!” 

Mr. Bindley, his complexion of a fine purple hue, 
stood staring at Mr. Dobb. 

“It’s a dirty trick!” he gasped at last. 

“Dessay,” said Mr. Dobb. “We’ve all got to live.” 

“And if—if I was fool enough to buy your con¬ 
founded shandyleary, how do I know you wouldn’t 
diddle me again ? You might keep some of them jewels 
back and-” 

“Not a bit of it,” said Mr. Dobb, quite eagerly. “I’d 
be glad to ’ave finished with such trickery on the public. 
You give me a cheque for that shandyleary, and you 
can take the jew’l’ry away with you when you go, if 
you like. You’ll know it ain’t safe to stop the cheque, 
because that would lead to all sorts of hinquiries, 
and-” 

“I shouldn’t dream of giving you a cheque. You’d 
blackmail me again over that, some’ow. But I’ve got 
some notes on me-” 

“Forty quid?” asked Mr. Dobb, urbanely. “That’s 
the price up-to-date, you know.” 

“Where’s the shandyleary ?” growled Mr. Bindley. 

“Downstairs in my cellar. And ’ere’s the jew’l’ry.” 

“All of it ?” 

Mr. Dobb, lifting a package from beneath his counter, 





190 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


opened the wrapping and displayed a mass of personal 
ornament. 

“You compare that with the list and you’ll find there 
ain’t a thing missing/’ he said, tying up the parcel again 
and returning it beneath the counter. 

“Well, let’s see the shandyleary,” grunted Mr. 
Bindley, with ill grace, “and maybe I’ll offer you a 
price for it.” 

“Spoke like a sensible man!” declared Mr. Dobb- 
“It’s in three parts. I’ll carry ’em up.” 

Elatedly he tripped down into his cellar. He was 
just about to pick up the nearest portion of the 
chandelier, when a sudden anguish assailed him. With 
an anxious cry he ran back up the stairway again. 

The shop was empty. Mr. Dobb darted behind his 
counter. The parcel was gone. He raced out into the 
roadway, and was rewarded with a view of Mr. Bindley, 
the parcel tight-clutched beneath his arm, rapidly 
retiring dow T n the perspective. 

Mr. Dobb opened his mouth to shout, then blinked 
and became thoughtful. And, at long last, he made a 
helpless, fluttering gesture with his hands and retired 
forlornly into his shop. 

That same evening Mr. Clark, in a state of consider¬ 
able jubilation, came to see him. 

“I’ve ’ad a bit of luck to-day!” babbled the stout 
ferryman. “I met ’er face to face, and I’m cured! 
Why, close to, she’s nearly ’alf as old as I am! Bindley 
was with ’er, and that’s what I come to see you about, 
to see if you can hexplain the mystery. He saw me 
’anging about the corner, as usual, and ’e asked me if 
I’d do a little job for ’im, seeing as ’e reckoned to ’ave 
a busy time before the hopening of the theayter.” 

“Well ?” sourly prompted Mr. Dobb. 


A SPECIAL PERFORMANCE 


191 


“Well, first of all, ’e give me a bob, and then ’e give 
me a letter to deliver by ’and, marked ‘Hurgent,’ to 
the beditor of tbe ‘Shore’aven Gazette.’ ” 

“Ah!” commented Mr. Dobb. 

“But that ain’t the mystery. Then ’e give me 
another bob and a ’eavy little parcel to be left at the 
stage-door. It was addressed to Miss Margureety 
Delafayne, and on it was written in pencil, 'From one 
’oo repents / Now, seeing ’e was with ’er at the time, 
what did ’e want to send that there parcel to the theayter 
for? And what did that bit about repenting mean? 
Can you see any sense in it ?” 

“No,” said Mr. Dobb, churlishly and untruthfully. 


EPISODE IX 


THE GREEN EYES OF THE LITTLE 
BIRMINGHAM GOD 

M R. HORACE DOBB sharply closed the tattered 
volume which had been occupying his leisure, 
and looked up as if something were momentarily 
dazzling him. And next he removed his slippered feet 
from the mantelshelf and very slowly and carefully 
described an arc with his heels until he was sitting erect 
in his chair, alertly yet contemplatively, and also with 
a suggestion of breathlessness, in the manner of one 
who is visited by an inspired idea. 

For a full minute Mr. Dobb remained thus, and then 
he rose and shuffled out into his shop. Here he opened 
a cupboard to take from it a small metallic object. 
Returning to his parlour, he placed this object on the 
table, and it stood revealed as a posturing figure of 
tarnished brass, ostensibly Oriental in origin. 

And now for a long, long while Mr. Dobb stared at 
this figure in deep meditation, with his eyelids twitching 
and flickering impatiently when, now and then, he 
found that his inventiveness had stampeded him into 
some mental cul-de-sac. And then he began to pace 
the narrow confines of the room, walking in a tense, 
rigid way, as though his thoughts were so delicately 
balanced on each other that the slightest disturbance 
of their equilibrium would send them scattering use¬ 
lessly in all directions. 


192 


GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 193 


But at last lie halted, nodded his head thrice with 
keen satisfaction at the idol on the table, and then came 
to the greatest animation, whistling, snapping his 
fingers, and even pirouetting a little. 

“Green heyes and all, just like it says in the book,” 
he remarked, enigmatically. 

And with that he bundled the idol hack into its cup¬ 
board, and set forth to confabulate with Mr. Peter Lock 
at his place of employment. 

The hour happily being that usually devoted to 
siesta, Mr. Dobb found Mr. Lock quite alone at his post 
in the billiard-room at the “Royal William Hotel.” 
Mr. Dobb at once put to Mr. Lock a direct question. 

“Well, I don’t know,” murmured Mr. Lock, reflect¬ 
ively. “There’s two or three of ’em. ’Specially at 
billiards. But, on the whole, I should say that Sinnett 
is. Come to think of it, I’m pretty certain he is. I 
don’t know where you’d find a bigger, anyway.” 

“ Ah, but does ’e think ’e’s smart ?” asked Mr. Dobb. 
“That’s the kind of mug I’m after.” 

“He’s the sort what’s so busy thinking about his 
cleverness,” replied Mr. Lock, “that he don’t have a 
moment to spare for finding out what a fool he really 
is.” 

“That’s the sort what’s good for trade,” declared Mr. 
Dobb, appreciatively. “ ’E’s just the kind of chap I’m 
needing.” 

“What’s the game this time ?” asked Mr. Lock. 

“Hidols’ heyes,” said Mr. Dobb. “I been reading 
a book,” he continued in response to Mr. Lock’s un¬ 
comprehending stare. “And there was a hidol in it 
what ’ad real hemerald heyes, and this ’ere hidol was 
stole from a temple somewhere out foreign by a couple 
of chaps what didn’t know about its heyes, and there 


194 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS’’ 


wasn’t lialf some murders and niggers and tilings in 
it.” 

“Why, that’s a old, old plot,” said Mr. Lock, dis¬ 
paragingly. “You’re losing your dash, ’Orace. Fancy 
you having to go to books to learn anything!” 

“P’r’aps it’ll be a noo enough plot so far as this ’ere 
Mr. Sinnett is concerned,” observed Mr. Dobb, unruffled. 

He tarried some while longer in intimate discussion 
with Mr. Lock, and then departed to interview another 
member of the translated crew of the obsolete “Jane 
Gladys,” in the plump and venerable person of Mr. 
Samuel Clark, the ferryman. 

Mr. Clark, perceiving the advent of Mr. Dobb, came 
forward to greet him with marked expectancy. 

“Sam, do you know a chap called Sinnett—Mr. 
George Sinnett ?” queried Mr. Dobb. 

“Squeaky voice, leather gaiters, nose like a fox?” 
sketched Mr. Clark. 

“That’s ’im.” 

Know ’im? I ’ate ’im!” stated Mr. Clark. 

“Just as well,” sagely remarked Mr. Dobb. “Nothing 
like a bit of feeling to make a man sincere in his 
hefforts.” 

“Meaning-” 

“Why, this ’ere Sinnett is the next down on our list, 
Sam,” announced Mr. Dobb. “ ’E’s down for a Hindian 
hidol—fifteen pounds.” 

“And us ?” quickly asked Mr. Clark. 

“ ’Alf of it between the three of you,” promised the 
master-mind of the confederacy. “I can hafiord to be 
generous. It only cost me three-and-six.” 

“Brummagem?” next inquired Mr. Clark. 

“Oh, no,” denied Mr. Dobb, flippantly. “Real native 



GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 195 


Hindian work—that’s why I give such a ’igh price 
for it.” 

“And Sinnett’s going to pay fifteeen quid for it ?” 
raptly cried Mr. Clark. “Ok, ’appy day! A dozen 
times ’ave I ferried ’im across, and never so much as 
a a’penny for a tip! And then ’e ’ad the sauce to say 
that the fare ought to be less at low tide, because the 
distance ain’t so far!” 

“Never mind,” said Mr. Dobb, “everything comes to 
? im ’oo don’t mind laying low for a bit. What’s ’is 
’ouse of call, do you know ?” 

“The ‘Flag and Pennant’ yonder, when ’e ain’t trying 
to play billiards at the ‘Royal William.’ ” 

“Another thing,” mentioned Mr. Dobb. “ ’Ave you 
got any old scars or wounds on you ?” 

“There’s this old cut on the back of my ’and, what 
I done that night I was shaving in the fo’c’sle when 
Alf Runnett come down and tickled me, playful, be¬ 
cause ’is gal ’ad gone off with some one else.” 

“Just right,” said Air. Dobb, examining the cicatrice; 
and forthwith adopted a preceptory attitude towards 
the stout ferryman. 

Mr. Clark, at the end of ten minutes of instruction, 
asked a few questions to dispel one or two uncertainties 
of mind, and then professed a complete trust in his 
ability to carry out Air. Dobb’s directions. Air. Dobb, 
after satisfying himself by something in the nature of 
a rehearsal that Air. Clark’s confidence was well 
founded, then passed on for the purpose of seeking an 
interview of connective interest with Mr. Joseph Tridge, 
fourth member of the confederacy established long ago 
in the bowels of the inglorious “Jane Gladys.” 

That same evening Mr. George Sinnett was taking 


196 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


his ease in the bar-parlour of the “Flag and Pennant” 
when Mr. Samuel Clark entered the apartment a little 
precipitously and flung himself into a chair beside Mr. 
Sinnett. 

“Never mind!” passionately remarked Mr. Clark. 
“Fll get me rights yet! Fair’s fair, ain’t it, Sinnett?” 

Mr. Sinnett turned and regarded the ferryman with 
considerable coldness, for Mr. Clark was presumptu¬ 
ously flinging a bridge across a well-defined social space. 
Mr. Sinnett, noting that the ferryman was a little glassy 
of orb and rather reckless about the disposition of his 
legs, frowned unencouragingly and looked away again. 

“Fair’s fair!” again asserted Mr. Clark, dogmati¬ 
cally. “ ’Im and me was both in it, and that’s what 
I got for a start-off! Look!” 

Mr. Sinnett aloofly disdained the invitation, and next 
became aware that the back of a huge hand was floating 
to and fro a few inches below his nose. 

“You look at that afore it slips!” directed Mr. Clark, 
forcefully. “See that scar? That’s what I got for 
my share.” 

“Indeed,” said Mr. Sinnett, not quite comfortably. 

“In-blooming-deed!” asserted Mr. Clark. “Just as 
I was climbing over the railings of the temple.” 

“Temple? What temple?” asked Mr. Sinnett puz¬ 
zled. 

“Ah, I ain’t such a fool as to tell you that!” vaunted 
Mr. Clark. “But the nigger on guard gave me a lick 

across the back of the ’and with ’is sword, and- 

My chum got away all right, though. At least, ’e was 
my chum in those days. But now - ” 

Mr. Clark concluded his sentence with a deep-throated 
snarl, eloquent of hatred, contempt, and smouldering 
fury. 




GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 197 


Mr. Sinnett, for lack of more intelligent comment, 
sipped at his glass in a non-committal way. 

u Ah, it’s a sailor’s life for fun and hadventure!” 
cried Mr. Clark; and uttered a few tuneful roulades 
bearing upon his statement. 

“ ’Ere!” he said, ceasing suddenly to he lyrical and 
leaning forward to address Mr. Sinnett in a kind of 
large confidence. “There’s people fool enough to think 
that I’m ’anging about Shore’aven just to work the 
ferry! They thinks that , they do. Let ’em, says L 
So much the better.” 

“Well, what are you doing here?” 

Mr. Clark bent a little further forward and impres¬ 
sively tapped Mr. Sinnett on the knee. 

“ ’E’s ’ere!” he whispered. 

“He ? Who?” 

“Why, the chap I’ve been telling you about. The 
chap ’oo ’elped me to steal the hidol out of that sacred 
temple. Run away with it, ’e did, but I been tracking 
? im down all these years, and now I’ve found ’im! 
And if he ain’t got that hidol still-” 

“Valuable, is it?” asked Mr. Sinnett, intrigued. 

“Can’t say. ’Im and me only sneaked it for a lark, 
only them niggers took it so serious. It don’t look 
vallyble, any’ow. Just a fat thing with a fat face and 
a couple of bits of green glass for heyes. ’Tain’t as 
if it was made of gold, as you could see at a glance. 
There wasn’t ’alf a outcry when we took it, though. 
After us, they was, for ever so long, and we ’ad to 
—to take to the jungle to give ’em the slip. And then, 
one night while I was asleep, my chum took the hidol 
out of my pocket and ’ooked off with it.” 

“And you followed him?” asked Mr. Sinnett, with 
lively interest. 



196 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Everywhere! Worst of it was, wherever I follered 
? im, ’e’d ’ad about a year’s start. But at last I’ve 
found ’im, and-” 

With a species of incredulous annoyance at his own 
garrulity, Mr. Clark stopped abruptly and rose from 
his chair. 

“You been letting me say more than I ought to!” 
he remarked, severely. 

“Oh, no!” returned Mr. Sinnett, smoothly. “Why, 
you have not even told me the name of-” 

“No; and I ain’t going to, neither!” truculently 
interrupted Mr. Clark; and marched from the apart¬ 
ment. 

“Queer!” murmured Mr. Sinnett. “Very queer!” 

A little later in the evening that gentleman, direct¬ 
ing his course homeward by accustomed paths, came to 
a length of quiet, ill-lit thoroughfare, and here he found 
himself beholding the unusual. Eor, in the very middle 
of the roadway, he could clearly discern two men, who 
grappled earnestly with each other, swaying this way 
and that in furious embrace, and yet preserving an eerie 
and almost complete silence. 

For some moments, Mr. Sinnett viewed this phenom¬ 
enon in amazement, and then he hurried forward. 
His advent appeared to alarm the antagonists, for, as 
soon as he drew near, they parted. One of them, 
presenting a stout figure tolerably familiar to Mr. Sin¬ 
nett, ran climsily away down the road; the other man, 
breathing exhaustedly, stood fumbling at his collar in 
a dazed way. Mr. Sinnett, peering at his features 
through the gloom, discovered him to be the man who 
kept the Magnolia Toilet Saloon, one Mr. Joseph Tridge, 
to wit. 

“What’s the game?” demanded Mr. Sinnett. 




GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 199 


“No game,” puffed Mr. Tridge. “Dead serious!” 

“Wasn’t that the ferryman?” 

“Eh?” cried Mr. Tridge, guiltily. “No—oh, no! It 
wasn’t ’im. It wasn’t anybody you’d know. It—it 
wasn’t anybody I know!” 

“But I’m certain- Did he attack you sudden? 

Why didn’t you call for the police?” 

“We—we’d rather not ’ave the p’lice mixed up with 
it. It’s a—a private affair. I—I’m all right now.” 

Mr. Tridge then stumbled dizzily against the other 
man. 

“Here—here!” cried Mr. Sinnett, in concern. “Why, 
man, you’re shaking all over! Here, take my arm and 
lean on me. The ‘Cutlass and Cannon’ is quite close; 
you’d better have something there to pick you up and 
pull you together.” 

Mr. Tridge lurched again, most convincingly, and Mr. 
Sinnett, with many encouraging remarks, began to lead 
him towards the tavern he had named. 

“All the same,” muttered Mr. Tridge, hazily, “ ’e— 
’e didn’t get it.” 

“Get what ?” 

“Oh, nothing—nothing! I—I wasn’t thinking.” 

A minute or so after they reached the “Cutlass and 
Cannon.” Here Mr. Tridge, with obvious effort, forced 
himself to a normal deportment, thus escaping the curb 
osity of the few patrons present in the tap-room. Under 
direction of Mr. Sinnett, he sat down in a quiet corner, 
and soon, under the influence of his companion’s pre¬ 
scription, became quite animated. A second potion 
having been swallowed, and a third ordered, to make 
quite sure that the required dose should lack nothing in 
strength, Mr. Sinnett coughed delicately and addressed 
Mr. Tridge in winning accents. 






£00 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“You were telling me just now, when—when you 
were taken queer out in the road—that that ferryman 
didn’t get what he was after.” 

“Did I tell you it was the ferryman ? I never meant 
to.” 

“Oh, well, you did! But there’s no harm done. A 
secret is a secret with me. Same as I shan’t tell any¬ 
one,” continued Mr. Sinnett, watching his companion 
very closely, “that what he was after was an Indian 
idol.” 

Mr. Tridge started violently. 

“ ’Ow did you know that?” he asked. 

“Why, you told me so yourself. Don’t you remem¬ 
ber ?” returned Mr. Sinnett, with a disarming smile. 

“No; I—I don’t remember. My ’ead was going round 
and round, and- Well, I am a mug!” 

He raised his glass and emptied it. Mr. Sinnett, 
eyeing him with intensity, immediately had the measure 
refilled. 

“After all,” said Mr. Tridge, defensively, “it’s as 
much mine as ’is!” 

“Quite,” readily agreed Mr. Sinnett. “Oh, quite!” 

“ ’E tried to serve me a dirty trick,” said Mr. Tridge, 
placing an argumentative forefinger on Mr. Sinnett’s 
necktie, “and I served ’im one instead. See? That’s 
fair, ain’t it?” 

“Certainly,” acquiesced Mr. Sinnett, with a straining 
quality of helpfulness underlying his tone. “Fair is 
fair, all the world over, of course!” 

“ ’Course it is. And, mind you, I’m hobstinit. If 
’e’d come to me, fair and reasonable, in the first 

place- You see what I mean? But ’e didn’t. 

Same as them nigger chaps what ’ave follered me about 
from time to time, wanting to buy it back. I told ’em 




GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 201 


once I wouldn’t sell it, and what I says I sticks to. 
See P 

“Clear as clear. When your mind’s made up, it’s 
made up.” 

“That’s me,” accepted Mr. Tridge, complacently. 
“Follered me all over the place, they ’ave and hof- 
fered me any amount of money for it. But I ain’t a 
wobbler. What I says I sticks to. See ? Let’s ’ave 
another!” 

“Yes, let’s,” agreed Mr. Sinnett, eagerly. 

“Tried to steal it off me, them niggers ’ave,” said 
Mr. Tridge, disdainfully, after the rites consequent on 
a further libation had been observed. “But I’m a 
match for them any day. And they talks about sticking 
me next time they come across me. Let ’em try that 
on, that’s all!” 

“But why do you think they are so anxious to get 
it back ? What do they want to-” 

“Hidol!” sagely returned Mr. Tridge, with an ex¬ 
planatory wave of his glass. “What they says their 
prayers to. Sort of—sort of marscutt, you know. You 
know, if you ’ad a marscutt and you lost it, ’ow every¬ 
thing ’ud seem to go wrong for you? Not that it’s 
brought me much luck.” 

“Perhaps these niggers you spoke of was at the back 
of it P suggested Mr. Sinnett. 

“Maybe,” said Mr. Tridge, with sublime carelessness. 
“There was always a nigger around whenever things 
went wrong, anyway. But I’m a British seaman, I 
am, and I don’t take no notice of niggers. See ? And 
I’m surprised as you should, either!” 

“I—I wasn’t thinking,” apologized Mr. Sinnett. 
“But tell me—do you think perhaps the idol is valu¬ 
able P 




202 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Mr. Tridge noisily lauglied the notion to scorn. 

“You ought to see it! 77 he cried. “Just a Agger of 
fun made of brass, with hits of green glass for eyes. 77 

Mr. Sinnett sat vigilantly upright. 

“Oh, but are you sure they are glass ? 77 he asked. 

“Why, what else could they he? 77 returned Mr. 
Tridge. 

“They—they might- 77 began Mr. Sinnett, and 

then checked himself. “Er—quite so, 77 he ended, be¬ 
latedly. “What else could they he ? 77 

Mr. Tridge, carelessly flicking the question out of the 
range of further consideration, now stated that he felt 
quite recovered from the attack that had been made 
upon him, and earnestly besought Mr. Sinnett to main¬ 
tain silence as to the incident, if for no other reason 
than for the good repute of the Magnolia Toilet Saloon. 

“I been wild in my time, 77 confessed Mr. Tridge, 
“but I don’t want folks to think that I 7 m the rough 
character I used to be. See? And now good-night, 
and thank 7 ee. 77 

He steered for the door. Mr. Sinnett, with a kindly 
smile, insisted on accompanying him. 

“You—you might be took bad again, 77 he urged, link¬ 
ing arms with him. “I 7 11 come your way and see you 
safe home. 77 

And this he very charitably did. Mr. Tridge, 
although leaning heavily on his companion’s supportive 
arm, none the less otherwise ignored the presence of 
Mr. Sinnett. Moved by contact with the open air to 
a reflective mood, Mr. Tridge, as he walked, growled 
aloud a resentful epitome of his conversation in the 
“Cutlass and Cannon, 77 coming back again and again 
to dwell on his firmness in refusing to part with bis 




GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 203 


booty. Arrived at tbe door of bis lodgings, be found 
bis latchkey, and then turned to bis escort. 

“ J Ullo, where did you spring from ?” be asked, dully. 

“I’ve been seeing you home/ 5 replied Mr. Sinnett, in 
benevolent accents. 

“Like your cheek!” grunted Mr. Tridge. “Ne’ mind! 
Joily good fellow! Mush ’bliged! Goo’ night!” 

He opened tbe door, and was passing over tbe thresh¬ 
old, when Mr. Sinnett addressed him a little desper¬ 
ately. 

“Ain’t you—ain’t you going to ask me in ?” be 
queried. 

“No!” said Mr. Tridge, flatly. “You leave me ’lone!” 

“I—I’d like to have a look at that idol you was 
talking about. Just—just see it, you know.” 

“Hidol ?” exclaimed Mr. Tridge, staring about him 
alarmedly. “What hidol ? I don’t know nothing about 
no hidol!” 

“Oh, but you’ve been telling me-” 

“I ain’t never seen no hidol, not nowhere!” de¬ 
clared Mr. Tridge. “I don’t know what you’re talking 
about! Hidol, hindeed! ’Ere,” he quavered, “ ’ave 

I been fool enough to- But that’s all right! I 

know I ain’t—I’ve only jus’ met you this very minute, 
and I ain’t ’ad time to. Well, goo’ ni’, old chum!” 

He leered owlishly upon Mr. Sinnett, shook him by 
the hand, and lurched most realistically over the thresh¬ 
old. Quietly he shut the door, and instantly all in¬ 
consequence of manner vanished from him. He stood 
to listen to the slow, receding footsteps of Mr. Sinnett, 
and at that moment the two gentlemen exhibited exactly 
the same exultant expression of countenance. 

“We got ’im!” remarked Mr. Tridge to himself, with 
vast satisfaction. 





204 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Talk about sheer luck!” joyously murmured Mr. 
Sinnett, as he walked away. “George, my boy, you’re 
on the track of something good! Why, it’s like one of 
them old detective tales come true!” 

For the ensuing portion of the week, Mr. Sinnett’s 
everyday pursuits suffered neglect, for that worthy had 
apparently conceived an obsession to have either Mr. 
Tridge or Mr. Clark continually under observation. 
And so for each of several mornings he entered the 
Magnolia Toilet Saloon and sat him down on the bench 
where those waited who required Mr. Tridge’s profes¬ 
sional services. 

Here Mr. Sinnett would become so engrossed in the 
newspaper that he would waive his turn for attention 
till he was the only patron remaining. And when he 
had no further pretext for lingering, he would be 
shaved, and then go off to the ferry, where he would 
be needlessly rowed across the ferry and return by that 
conveyance almost immediately. 

And in the afternoon he would find that he had need 
of toilet soap, or a bottle of hair-oil, and he would 
repair to Mr. Tridge’s establishment to procure such 
article, making the matter of purchase as protracted a 
business as possible. And then he would saunter down 
to the ferry and, alleging that sea air was good for him, 
be taken several consecutive journeys across the river 
under the impulse of Mr. Clark’s sculls. 

And in the evening he would visit the “Flag and 
Pennant” inn, or such other tavern as might be ex¬ 
tending its hospitality to Mr. Tridge or Mr. Clark, and 
here he would laboriously contrive desultory conversa¬ 
tion with one or other of them until doors had to be 
closed, when his way would strangely coincide with the 


GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 205 


homeward path of that gentleman of the twain in whose 
society closing-time had found him. 

But never a word was there spoken of an idol of 
any sort. Twice or thrice Mr. Sinnett had broached 
Imperialism as a topic of conversation, being thus en¬ 
abled to allude to India in a natural, unforced way. 
But mention of that empire had instantly caused both 
Mr. Tridge and Mr. Clark to look suspicious and mark¬ 
edly avoid any development of the subject, so that Mr. 
Sinnett had to travel warily back, by way of Canada 
and Australia and New Zealand, to shallower waters. 

And, for their part, Mr. Tridge and Mr. Clark bore 
the partiality of Mr. Sinnett for their society with 
nothing but a nice air of gratitude for patronage. Not 
once did either of them make allusion to that recent 
evening when they had shown him something of the 
inner side of their confidence. And Mr. Sinnett was 
glad that this should be so, for clearly, he argued, it 
showed that the conversations had had no abiding place 
in their memories. Wherefore, then, he cultivated their 
comjjany, waiting for a chance word to swell the bulk 
of his secret information and give him assistance in 
turning this knowledge to his own profit. 

“Ever seen a cat waiting outside a mouse-’ole ? That’s 
’im!” Mr. Clark privately reported to Mr. Horace 
Dobb. 

“A bit of waiting don’t do no ’arm,” said Mr. Dobb, 
sagaciously. “The more time ’e spends the less ’e’ll 
like to think that it might ’ave been wasted.” 

So that it was not till one evening in the middle 
of the following week that Mr. Sinnett was thrilled by 
a further unwinding of the spool of adventure. 

On that night, neither Mr. Clark nor Mr. Tridge 


206 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


were to be discovered in accustomed haunts, and Mr. 
Sinnett, fearful of this coincidence, went from hostelry 
to hostelry in feverish search. Returning to the “Royal 
William Hotel” for a second time, he again questioned 
the billiard-marker. 

“No, Mr. Tridge ain’t been in here yet, sir,” Mr. 
Lock replied. “In fact, I was just wondering whether 
you’d come across him anywhere. There’s been some 
one inquiring very eager after him since you was 
here a hour ago.” 

“Who was it—that ferryman?” 

“No, sir; a dark gentleman.” 

“A—a nigger ?” exclaimed Mr. Sinnett. 

“Well, yes; except that he was dressed quite respect¬ 
able,” acquiesced Mr. Lock. “Oh, very respectable 
indeed. He looked as if he might be pretty well off 
at home.” 

“Did he say he wanted to see Tridge important ?” 

“Very important, so he said, sir. He said something 
about only just having managed to find out where he 
was, and about a boat sailing back almost immediate.”' 

“Um-m-rn,” commented Mr. Sinnett, and thought¬ 
fully began to stroke his chin. “Did he—did the nigger 
say where he was stopping, or anything like that?” 

“No, sir. I told him where Mr. Tridge lodged, 
and-” 

“Oh, you shouldn’t have done that!” 

“No, sir? Why not?” 

“Oh, because-” 

Mr. Sinnett, without furnishing the explanation, 
stopped short, for Mr. Tridge had just entered the room. 
Conspicuously bandaged was Mr. Tridge’s right hand, 
and a huge asterisk of sticking-plaster decorated his 
left cheek. 




GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 207 


u ’Ad a bit of a haccident,” be returned, evasively, 
when Mr. Sinnett asked a surprised question. “Cut 
meself.” 

“How ?” further inquired Mr. Sinnett. 

“With a knife,” said Mr. Tridge. 

“Whatever was you a-doing of, sir ?” asked Mr. Lock. 

“What the devil’s that got to do with you ?” roared 
Mr. Tridge. “You shut up and mind your own busi¬ 
ness !” 

“Sorry, sir,” humbly apologized Mr. Lock. “By the 
way, sir, there was a dark gent inquiring for you.” 

“I know,” said Mr. Tridge, curtly. “I met ’im!” 

And now the door opened, and the visage of Mr. 
Clark stared round it. Vengeful and gloating was the 
stout ferryman’s face, and he nodded with malevolent 
satisfaction at Mr. Tridge. 

“Ah, ’e told me ’e ’ad!” he cried. “Good luck to 
’im p 

“You get out!” shouted Mr. Tridge, passionately. 
“Else I’ll serve you like I did ’im!” 

“Pooh, ’e was only shamming!” retorted Mr. Clark. 
“ ’E got up again and walked away soon as you’d 
gone.” 

“Well, shut up, anyway!” ordered Mr. Tridge, with 
a warning scowl. “Don’t you think you’ve said more 
than enough already ?” 

“Them ?” said Mr. Clark, glancing carelessly at Mr. 
Sinnett and Mr. Lock. “They don’t know nothing.” 

“Oh, well, ’e didn’t get it, anyway!” declared Mr. 
Tridge. 

“ ’E’ll get it all right in the end,” prophesied Mr. 
Clark, darkly. “You mightn’t get off so lucky next 
time.” 


208 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“ ’E’ll never get it,” stated Mr. Tridge, with dour 
confidence. 

“Not if you deals fair by me,” said Mr. Clark. 
“P’r’aps he won’t, then, not against the two of us.” 

“I’ve told you I ain’t sharing, once and for all!” 
bellowed Mr. Tridge. 

“All right!” growled Mr. Clark. “You’ll be sorry. 
I could tell you something if I liked. Made me sit 
up when I ’eard it, anyway. Look ’ere, I give you 
fair warning—in future it’s either to be me and you, 
or me and Tm/ Take your choice. Anyway, after 
what I’ve learnt to-night, I’m going to be in it, some- 
’ow!” 

“Nothing doing!” announced Mr. Tridge, stoutly. 

“All right,” said Mr. Clark, in the most sinister 
fashion. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” 

He withdrew. Mr. Tridge began to wdiistle a little 
flatly, as though unaware of the absorbed gaze bent 
upon him by the other two men present. 

“Reminds me—letter to post!” ejaculated Mr. Sin- 
nett, suddenly; and followed after Mr. Clark, in a state 
of the keenest excitement. 

Mr. Clark had proceeded but as far as the tap-room 
of the “Royal William,” and here Mr. Sinnett unos¬ 
tentatiously took up a strategic position in the chair 
next to him. For some while Mr. Clark displayed an 
introspective moodiness, sipping at his refreshment and 
nodding his head with the same grim air of determi¬ 
nation. 

But presently he turned towards Mr. Sinnett, and, 
after eyeing him cautiously, addressed him in the gruff 
tones of one determined to check any unnecessary ex¬ 
tension of talk. 

“ ’Ow much is hemeralds worth ?” he asked. 



GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 209 


“Emeralds?” fluttered Mr. Sinnett. “Emeralds?” 

He paused to strive for greater self-control. 

“That’s what I said,” observed Mr. Clark, surlily. 
“Hemeralds. You know, them green stones.” 

“It—it depends.” 

“I see,” said Mr. Clark, and pointedly turned his 
shoulder to Mr. Sinnett. 

“How—how big are they ?” ventured Mr. Sinnett. 

“Both of ’em are a pretty fair size,” said Mr. Clark. 
“But it don’t matter. I—I was only just wondering. 
See ?” 

He brought his back even more deliberately into Mr. 
Sinnett’s cognizance, and the conversation ended. And, 
a few minutes after, he quitted the room with so un- 
genial an air that Mr. Sinnett had not the courage to 
accompany him. And he found Mr. Tridge was gone 
from the billiard-room, so that there was nothing left 
for Mr. Sinnett to do but to retire home to spend a 
night of fitful slumber. 

Early next morning did he enter the Magnolia Toilet 
Saloon, drawn thither by an irresistible desire to keep 
abreast of every development in this affair which so 
tantalizingly suggested personal profit without indicat¬ 
ing the means thereto. 

“Morning, sir!” said Mr. Tridge. 

“Morning!” returned Mr. Sinnett. “I just looked 
in to see how those wounds of yours are getting on.” 

“Oh, they’re all right,” said Mr. Tridge; and added, 
in the casual tones of heroism, “Matter of fact, it was 
a bit of a scrap. And, what’s more, I ’ad another one 
after I left you last evening. Only, of course, I don’t 
want you to talk about ’em. It won’t do this ’ere 
saloon no good.” 

“And—and the second scrap?” 


210 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Ah, that was in my lodgings! When I got ’ome,” 
narrated Mr. Tridge, “I see my window open. Indoors 
I goes, very quiet. Blest if they wasn’t trying to burgle 
me!” 

“Burgle you ? Who was ?” 

“Why, that—oh, just a couple of chaps. I ’it out 
at ’em, and they closed with me. In the end,” con¬ 
cluded Mr. Tridge, modestly, “they was both glad 
enough to jump out of the window.” 

“Well, well!” breathed Mr. Sinnett. 

Mr. Tridge smiled, and then broke into chuckles. 

“It’s rather a joke,” he said. “I don’t mind tell¬ 
ing you something, if you promise you won’t repeat 
it.” 

“Oh, I promise!” cried Mr. Sinnett, readily. 

“Well, they was after something that wasn’t there 
at all! Mind you, they thought it was ! It was some¬ 
thing I’d ’ad for a long time, and they was very anxious 
to get it. Many and many a try the’d ’ad for it. But 
I wouldn’t let ’em ’ave it. The first scrap last night 
—that was one of their hattempts. Any one might 
think it worth ’undreds of pounds, the way they keeps 
on trying. But it ain’t.” 

“Isn’t it ?” asked Mr. Sinnett, in strained tones. 

“Only as a curiosity. It’s vallyble, far as that goes. 
Anyway, I ’ad no difficulty in getting twelve quid fo? 
it last night.” 

“You—you’ve sold it?” cried Mr. Sinnett. 

“I ’ave. After that first scrap last night, I got so 
sick about ’aving to bother about its being safe always 
that I just took and sold it. Not to them, of course, 
I wouldn’t give in to them. I sold it to Dobb, in Fore 
Street. ’E see at once that it was a genuine curiosity, 
and ’e didn’t ’aggie a bit.” 


GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 211 


For several long seconds Mr. Sinnett stared at Mr. 
Tridge. Then, with a start, he purchased a superfluous 
stick of shaving-soap, and wandered from the premises. 

Scarce had he gone twenty yards when he found 
himself accosted by Mr. Peter Lock. 

“Just the very gent I was ’oping to see!” said Mr. 
Peter Lock, exhibiting suppressed excitement. “There’s 
something a bit queer afoot, sir, what I’d like to talk 
over with you. You know about that row Mr. Tridge 
’ad with the ferryman last night. At least, I think 
it’s something to do with that.” 

“We can talk in here,” said Mr. Sinnett; and drew 
Mr. Lock into the “Bunch o’ Grapes.” 

“Mind you, sir, I don’t take no responsibility,” said 
Mr. Lock. “But it’s queer. That Indian gent come 
into the billiard-room not half an hour ago. He said 
he’d arranged to meet Clark, the ferryman, there at 
noon, but he found he must get back to London by the 
eleven-eleven train this morning. And so he gave me 
a note to hand to him.” 

“Well ?” 

“Well, sir, he said something about advising Clark 
to lay low after last night. He said he’d forgot to put 
that in the note, and asked me to mention it to Clark. 
Remembered it just as he was going, he did, and come 
back to tell me. Well, now, sir, I don’t want to get 
mixed up in no fishy cases. If you remember what 
them two was saying to each other last night-” 

“Open the note,” directed Mr. Sinnett. 

“Just what I was thinking, sir. That’s why I wanted 
to see you, because you was there and know as much 
about it as I do. If there’s any risk, I don’t mean to 
be in it at all.” 



212 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Quite so,” said Mr. Sinnett. “Open the note and 
make sure.” 

With a certain trembling eagerness, Mr. Sinnett 
watched Mr. Lock draw an envelope from his pocket. 

“You can easily put it in a new envelope,”' said Mr. 
Sinnett, as Mr. Lock began to stare perplexedly at the 
flap. 

“I never thought of that,” said Mr. Lock, and at once 
tore open the missive. It was very short. 

“7 am at 17, Somerset Terrace, Poplar, till to-morrow. 
Ten my boat sails, but letters there will be forwarded 
me. Keep to our bargain. Do not forget that I am 
prepared to pay a higher price than anyone else for it.” 

“Strange,” murmured Mr. Lock. 

“Seventeen, Somerset Terrace, Poplar,” muttered Mr. 
Sinnett. “Seventeen, Somer-” 

“Do you thing there’s anything in the address, sir V 9 
asked Mr. Lock, curiously. 

“If you take my advice,” said Mr. Sinnett, impres¬ 
sively, “you’ll burn that note and say no more about 
it.” 

“I think that would be safest,” agreed Mr. Lock, 
and, striking a match, ignited the missive in the fire¬ 
place. 

“Well, I must be going,” said Mr. Sinnett, coming 
to a sudden briskness; and, settling the score, he has¬ 
tened away. 

Live minutes later he was in the presence of Mr. 
Horace Dobb. Permission to glance round the stock 
had been met with suave and smiling acquiescence, and 
almost immediately Mr. Sinnett, with false calm, was 
inquiring the price of a small idol. 

“That ?” said Mr. Dobb. “Oh, I’d let you have that 



GREEN EYES OF BIRMINGHAM GOD 213 


for twenty pounds. Genuine curiosity, that is, sir. I 
dare say it’s worth a lot more, but I want to make 
you a customer. Ah, that won’t be on my shelves long, 
for all I only bought it last night. Always getting 
inquiries for genuine foreign idols, I am. That’s the 
only one I’ve got in my shop at present. There’s a 
lot of connoshers of them things about.” 

“Twenty pounds?” said Mr. Sinnett. “Why, man, 
I happen to know you only gave twelve for it!” 

“Ah, I’d ’ave given more if ’e’d pressed me, but ’e 
seemed anxious to get rid of it. And, anyway, sir, 
I’d ’ave got twenty pounds easy enough for it yesterday 
afternoon, if I’d ’ad it. There was a Indian gentleman 
in ’ere hinquiring if by any chance I ’ad any hidols. Par¬ 
ticular keen ’e seemed to get one just like that. ’E 

might ’ave been-” 

“Fifteen pounds,” offered Mr. Sinnett. 

And so it was; but even then, Mr. Dobb only yielded 
with professed reluctance to losing the chance of Mr. 
Sinnett as a regular patron thenceforward. 

That same evening Mr. Clark, Mr. Tridge, and Mr. 
Lock foregathered in Mr. Dobb’s parlour. 

“Yes, I see ’im go,” said Mr. Tridge. “ ’E’d got it 
in a portmanteau. Caught the two-twenty-one, ’e did. 
’E’ll be in London by now. Can’t you fancy ’im getting 
more and more hexcited at that ’ouse, trying to hex- 
plain to ’em that ’e wants to see a nigger they don’t 
know nothing about ? And ’e’ll think they’re trying to 
deceive ’im, and ’e’ll tell ’em all the ’ole story, just 

to show ’e’s telling the truth, and-” 

“Oh, ’e’ll be very hagitated,” said Mr. Clark. “ ’E’s 
that sort, I bet, when things goes sideways. Serve ’im 
right! Anyway, thanks for my share, ’Orace. I shall 




214 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


be able to do a bit of slate-cleaning with it. By tbe 
way, what haddress did you send ’im looking for, 
Peter ?” 

“Seventeen, Somerset Terrace, Poplar. ’Orace told 
me to write down any old address I happened to think 
of, didn’t you, ’Orace ? And Seventeen, Somerset Ter- 
race, come easiest to my mind. I don’t know where 
I got it from.” 

“Seventeen, Somerset-” gasped Mr. Tridge and 

Mr. Clark, simultaneously. 

“That’s it.” 

“Then I can tell you where you got it!” shouted 
Mr. Tridge. “You come and see me and Sam Cark 
there many a time while we was lodging there, when 
the old Mane Gladys’ was being repaired that time.” 

“Ah, of course, I remember now!” said Mr. Lock. 
“A nice, comfortable, homely place it was, too!” 

“And you’ve sent Sinnett there to start questioning 
and arguing and hexplaining ?” roared Mr. Tridge. 
“Why, Sam and me ran up a bill for the ’ole six weeks 
we stopped there, and then we skipped off without pay¬ 
ing And now -” 




EPISODE X 


THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 

T HAT rising man of affairs, Mr. Horace Dobb, was 
setting out on bis afternoon stroll—which is rela¬ 
tively equivalent to saying that Beau Nash had just 
appeared in the Pump Room at Bath, or that the Prince 
Regent had issued forth to sun himself on the Steine 
at Brighthelmstone. 

For, whatever drab limitations the keeping of a 
second-hand shop might impose upon Mr. Dobb’s ward¬ 
robe during the exigencies of the morning, the after¬ 
noon would almost invariably have the gratification of 
witnessing that gentleman’s apotheosis. Then Mr. Dobb 
who spent his mornings in dragging bulky things about 
in the remote dustiness of his outhouse, or in cajoling 
and brow-beating clients across the counter, was as dif¬ 
ferent from the Mr. Dobb of the afternoon as is the 
lowly grub from the full-winged butterfly. 

Mr. Dobb, because he deemed that he owed a fitting 
publicity to his occupation and to his own personality, 
had taken the hours which intervene between dinner 
and tea, and had incorporated them into a general 
scheme for his glorification. Other business men might 
permit the searching post-meridian sunshine to illumi¬ 
nate frayed cuffs and shiny elbows, to exhibit symptoms 
of haste and heedlessness upon waistcoat fronts, to re¬ 
veal circumstantial evidence with regard to linen collars. 
Such negligence of apparel had ceased to be any part 
of Mr. Dobb’s policy. 


215 


216 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Wherever the calls of his profession might lead him 
abroad after dinner, either to auction sales or to visits 
for private appraisement, to interviews for preliminary 
negotiation or merely to casual scoutings for oppor¬ 
tunities of profit, Mr. Dobb’s aim was to appear fresh 
and impeccably groomed and, as far as possible, aristo¬ 
cratic. Careful study of toilet and deportment, he was 
convinced, must inevitably bring him the pleasing rep¬ 
utation of being a leader of fashion, and, furthermore, 
could not but impress people with the desirability of 
dealing with so distinguished a person when they had 
rickety sofas and deficient clocks and old ironmongery 
to sell. 

And so Mr. Dobb was sauntering forth in all his 
accustomed splendour. Upon his sleekly anointed hair 
there rested a soft felt hat of exceeding plushiness, 
with a tuft of strange feathers thrust into its band to 
hint at sporting prowess. A very high and very stiff 
collar encircled Mr. Dobb’s throat, and upon a necktie 
of cheerful patterning there was pillowed a scarfpin 
conspicuously, like the headlight upon a locomotive. 
A shaggy tweed suit, of a hue which far o’erleapt snuff 
and only narrowly missed mustard, graced Mr. Dobb’s 
frame, and his feet were encased in orange-coloured 
boots of a squeakiness surely without parallel. 

And when the eye had become inured to these glories, 
returning powers of vision brought apprehension of a! 
silver-mounted cane, of a buttonhole of geranium blooms, 
of a cigar, and a festooning watch-chain, and of the 
phenomena of tan gloves, not worn on the hands, but 
carried carelessly, as though their presence were due to 
a merest afterthought on the part of lazy luxury. 

And thus, as it were, glossed and burnished and inten- 
sified > Mr. Dobb progressed down Tore Street. One 


THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 217 


hand jauntily twirled the cane, the other hand not only 
had the distinction of flourishing the gloves in airy 
greeting of such neighbours as Mr. Dobb insisted should 
see him, but also was called on, from time to time, to 
assist in making great play with the cigar, a duty which 
it performed with many graceful twirls of the wrist. 

And thus did Mr. Dobb arrive at the corner where 
Fore Street joins Bridge Street, and here he paused 
to gaze up and down the road. A fine sense of domi¬ 
nance permeated Mr. Dobb as he stood there, and the 
expression with which he viewed the amenities of the 
place was one nicely calculated to hover midway be¬ 
tween languid interest and patrician disdain. 

And then, as an ancient ewer may be rare and valu¬ 
able ware in one moment and, in the next, be but so 
much broken crockery, so in a twinkling was Mr. Dobb 
transformed from a proud autocrat to a quaking 
fugitive. 

Gone was all trace of hauteur from his face, vanished 
completely was all swaggering complacency of manner. 
There was a hunted look in his eyes, and he had be¬ 
come limp and drooping and manifestly unstable at the 
knees. 

And the whole change had happened in that trice 
which is occupied by the clash of two pairs of eyes 
meeting each other in a glance of recognition across a 
narrow thoroughfare. 

“ ? Strewth !” breathed Mr. Dobb, aghast, and made 
a convulsive, clutching movement towards his hat, but 
checked his arm halfway. “ ’Strewth!” he said again, 
but even more emphatically; and then spun round on 
his heel and began to retrace his way along Fore Street 
at a pace in marked contrast to his previous gait. 

Regardless of the ill-concealed amazement of acquaint- 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


218 

ances, Mr. Dobb cantered wildly adown the pavement 
until be reached his abode, and here he breathlessly 
flung himself through the doorway, locking the portal 
behind him in a manner which clearly indicated panic. 
Mrs. Dobb, appearing in surprise from the back parlour, 
addressed a very natural question to her husband. 

“Why-” he began, and then stopped and stared 

at his wife as though the situation had suddenly un¬ 
folded itself to exhibit a further cause for conster¬ 
nation. 

And next he frenziedly unlocked the door and plucked 
the portal open, and plunged out again into the street. 
Glimpse of a figure in the distance served efficiently 
as spur, and Mr. Dobb raced wildly away in the oppo¬ 
site direction. Not until he had swerved round three 
successive corners did he feel emboldened to moderate 
his pace, and even then he travelled at something ap¬ 
proximating a canter. 

But at last he came to the region of the harbour, 
and reaching the “Flag and Pennant” shipway, he vig¬ 
orously semaphored for the attendance of the ferryman 
stationed there. On his hasty arrival, that functionary 
found himself directed to take Mr. Dobb across the 
river with the utmost possible speed. 

Mr. Samuel Clark, the ferryman, well used to the 
vagaries of his present patron and former shipmate of 
the “Jane Gladys,” made no immediate comment, but 
assisted his passenger into the boat and began to trans¬ 
port him with commendable energy. Mr. Dobb, re¬ 
moving his high collar and thrusting it into his pocket, 
made the noises of one narrowly saved from suffoca¬ 
tion, and gazed fearfully over his shoulder at the re¬ 
ceding river bank. 

“I—I—I ain’t got the breath to hexplain now, Sam,” 



THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 219 


he puffed, presently. “Put me down over there by the 
‘Red Lion/ and then go back and make up a yarn. 
And get some one to take your place. And then go 
and fetch Peter Lock and Joe Tridge, and bring ’em 
over yonder to me at once.” 

“Doings?” asked Mr. Clark, with the liveliest ex¬ 
pectancy. 

“Not ’alf!” was Mr. Dobb’s reply. “Not ’alf!” he 
said again; and shivered perceptibly. 

In face of this discouraging reply, Mr. Clark had not 
the hardihood to press for more explicit information. 
Ever one to concede that there was a wrong time and 
a right time to appeal to Mr. Dobb’s confidence, the 
look on that gentleman’s face warned him that this was 
indubitably one of the wrong times. 

In pondering silence, therefore, did the plump and 
ancient ferryman bend his best efforts to conveying 
Mr. Dobb to the further side of the harbour, and when 
this had been achieved, he immediately put about to 
accord loyal and unquestioning fulfilment to the re¬ 
mainder of Mr. Dobb’s instructions. 

Well within the hour, Mr. Clark returned in convoy 
of Mr. Tridge and Mr. Lock, and the three entered the 
presence of Mr. Dobb in the otherwise vacant tap-room 
of the “Red Lion.” 

Mr. Dobb had recovered some meed of his composure 
in the interval, but the rosiness of complexion induced 
by violent exercise had now faded to an ascetic pallor, 
and his eyes looked up dully from deep and dark circles. 
Evidence of his mental state was afforded by the fact 
that he was sitting on his ornate hat. 

“Lummy, ’Orace, you do look upset!” observed Mr. 
Tridge, in concern. 

“He looks real downright bad,” asserted Mr. Lock. 


22 0 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS" 


“ ’E looks ’orrible," was Mr. Clark’s contribution. 

Mr. Dobb, gazing with lack-lustre eyes from one to 
the other of his old shipmates, shook his head forlornly 
and gave vent to a sigh of extraordinary duration. 

“Why, ’e looks as if ’e’d seen a ghost," declared Mr. 
Tridge. 

“I ’ave," said Mr. Dobb; “that’s just what I ’ave 
seen. A ghost—a real live ghost!’’ 

Mr. Tridge threw a startled glance at the empty 
tumbler standing before Mr. Dobb. 

“No, it ain’t that," said Mr. Dobb, comprehending. 
“That is only the third I’ve ’ad all day. It’s a real 
ghost I’ve seen. A ghost from out of the past," he 
ended, with a fugitive gleam of pride in the quality of 
this phrase. 

Mr. Lock, his head a little on one side, speculatively 
scrutinized this beholder of visions. Mr. Tridge and 
Mr. Lock stared at each other in a baffled way, and 
privately intimated a mutual disbelief in the sanity of 
their friend. 

“Boys," said Mr. Dobb, “she’s ’ere." 

“Which she?" cried Mr. Tridge, not without per¬ 
turbation. 

“ ’Oo do you think?” dallied Mr. Dobb. 

“Not—not that widder woman from Teignmouth, that 
Mrs. Larstick?" queried Mr. Clark, shakily. “Not ’er? 
That I do ’ope. Don’t say it’s ’er ?’’ he begged. 

“N-n-n-nor y-y-y-yet th-th-th-that-’’ stammered 

Mr. Tridge, clearly lacking full control of his jaw. 

“Why the dooce don’t you say straight out, ’Orace ?’’ 
asked Mr. Lock. 

Mr. Dobb swallowed convulsively and steadied him¬ 
self by taking a firm grip on the arms of his chair. 

“It’s—it’s Looie Ladling,’’ he announced. 



THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 221 


“Oh, ’er!” said Mr. Tridge, swiftly reassured. “Rice 
little bit of goods, too.” 

“Werry nice,” agreed Mr. Clark, in equal relief. 
“It’ll be a pleasure to meet ’er again.” 

Mr. Lock, smiling, readjusted the set of his necktie. 

“But—but ’ave you forgot?” asked Mr. Dobb, in¬ 
credulously. “Talking like that! ’Ave you forgot or 
;what ?” 

“Forgot what?” returned Mr. Tridge. 

“Why,” Mr. Dobb replied, wretchedly, “I’m hen- 
gaged to that gal?” 

“But ’ow can you be, ’Orace?” very reasonably con¬ 
tended Mr. Clark. “You’re married to your missis, 
and she’s a very ’ealthy-looking lady.” 

“I married my missis a bit sudden, about eight 
months ago, as you may remember,” said Mr. Dobb. 

“Oh, well, it wasn’t in reason you could afford to 
miss the chance of owning a nice little shop like ’ers,” 
pointed out Mr. Tridge, extenuatingly. 

“Quite so,” acquiesced Mr. Dobb. “Only—only I 
’appened by chance to be hengaged to Looie Radling 
at the time. I’d been hengaged to ’er two months and 
more when I first met my missis.” 

“And stayed be’ind and got married to ’er by special 
licence and took up life ashore, while us other chaps 
went on in the Mane Gladys’ the last month afore she 
was sold,” recalled Mr. Tridge. “I remember now.” 

“Ah, I seem to remember something about you be¬ 
ing engaged to a Miss Radling,” admitted Mr. Lock. 
“Greenwich gal, ain’t she?” 

“Yes; and I remember ’er coming down to the boat 
to meet you the first time we went back there, and 
you wasn’t with us no longer. Very surprised but quite 


222 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


the lady she was/’ said Mr. Clark. “We told ’er you’d 
deserted or something.” 

“Anyway, she’s tracked me down now,” said Mr. 
Dobb; and made fretful gestures and noises for a while. 

“Oh, well, you’re married now, and there’s an end 
of it,” remarked Mr. Tridge, soothingly. 

“That’s just where you’re wrong,” complained Mr. 
Dobb. “Now Looie Radling’s found me out there won’t 
be a end to it. It’ll be the start, not the end.” 

“Breach o’ promise!” cried Mr. Tridge. “Of course, 
I ’adn’t thought of that.” 

“ ’As she got any of your letters, though ?” asked 
Mr. Clark, acutely. 

“’Undreds!” groaned Mr. Dobb. 

“She won’t half get some damages out of you,” 
prophesied Mr. Lock, cheerfully. “Having a business 
of your own now, and doing so well, they’ll award her 
a real big sum. Three or four ’undred, I dare say,” he 
hazarded, yawning carelessly. 

“What ?” screamed Mr. Dobb, in consternation. 
“Why, I can’t lay ’ands on a quarter of that!” 

“No, I don’t suppose you can,” agreed Mr. Lock. 
“But then I ain’t the judge and jury. They won’t 
believe you in court, you being so well known in Shore- 
haven. You’ll have to sell up your business and go 
back to sea, and pay her the damages in instalments. 
Long, long years ahead from now you’ll still be scrap¬ 
ing together to pay her-” 

“Oh, shut up!” bellowed Mr. Dobb, rendered almost 
hysterical by contemplation of so doleful a prospect. 

“Did she see you in them clothes, ’Orace?” asked 
Mr. Tridge. “Well, then, that’s done it! She’ll be 
after you like a porous-plaster for them damages. Gals 
don’t get the chance of marrying himitation dooks every 



THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 223 


day,” he went on, a little maliciously. “And when 
they ’ave the chance and loses it-” 

“Yes, if only she’d seen you in your shirt-sleeves 
and your old trowsis,” put in Mr. Clark, “very likely 
she’d only ’ave thought ‘good riddance to bad rubbish/ 
and thought no more about you.” 

“Ah, and that ain’t all, neither,” said Mr. Dobb, 
miserably. “What’s going to ’appen when my missis 
’ears about it ? I shan’t ever ’ear the last of it! If 
them two females was to meet-” 

“There’s men in your position ’ave drownded them¬ 
selves, ’Orace,” remarked Mr. Tridge, tonelessly. 

“That’s about the only way out of it that I can see,” 
observed Mr. Lock, with brutal frankness. 

“I never did trust women!” vehemently cried aloud 
Mr. Dobb. “Never!” 

“The great thing, I should say,” mentioned Mr. Lock, 
“is to keep from kicking and struggling. Just keep 
quiet, and when you go down for the third time it’ll 
be all over. I’ve heard say that it’s really rather a 
pleasant feeling, once you get over your mouth being 
full of water.” 

Mr. Dobb, setting his palms on his knees, turned and 
stared coldly at Mr. Lock. 

“Ah, I shall always remember how you’re looking 
at me, ’Orace,” said Mr. Lock, gently. “Sort of sad 
and mournful.” 

“I suppose,” vouchsafed Mr. Clark, thoughtfully— 
“I suppose as you can’t prove a hallybee, ’Orace? I 
done that once, and it come off all right, and we had 
the goose that very same night for supper.”' 

“Something could be done,” said Mr. Tridge. “I’m 
sure it could. Only, of course, it’s ’ard thinking when 
you’re thirsty.” 




224 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“You think away! Til see you ain’t thirsty!” 
eagerly promised Mr. Dobb; and forthwith gave orders 
which appreciably increased sympathy for him in his 
tribulation. 

“To begin with, you’re sure she recognized you, 
’Orace?” pressed Mr. Tridge. 

“I see ’er regular jump at sight of me,” asserted Mr. 
Dobb. 

“P’r’aps,” suggested Mr. Clark, “it was your clothes 
she saw.” 

“Next thing,” continued Mr. Tridge, “what makes 
you think she’s tracked you down special ? It may be 
the biggest haccident ’er being ’ere and coming across 
you.” 

“Why, she may ? ave forgotten you,” put forward 
Mr. Clark. “After all, it’s eight months and more 
since you saw her last.” 

“Perhaps she’s got married, too,” said Mr. Lock, 
hopefully. 

“Well, there, I never thought of that!” exclaimed 
Mr. Dobb, brightening. “Bit fickle it would be, 
though, wouldn’t it ?” he went on in accents slightly 
flavoured with disapproval. 

“Seems to me,” said Mr. Lock, “the best thing would 
be to find out just how the land lies. You’re a pretty 
good hand at that sort of thing, Sam. Suppose you 
was to go over and look about, and see if you could see 
her and have a little chat with her ?” 

“That’s it, Sam! You’ve got a nacheral gift of 
tact!” fawned Mr. Dobb. “You cut on back over to 
the town, and see if you can find ’er and learn what’s in 
the wind.” 

“Right you are!” acquiesced Mr. Clark, very readily. 


THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 225 


“I shall want a couple of boh to stand ’er a cup of tea 
and so forth, though. You can only get women really 
chatty when they’re drinking tea. Better make it 
’alf a crown, ’Orace, in case she fancies a bun or what¬ 
not.” 

A vivid light is thrown on the state of Mr. Dobb’s 
mind when it is mentioned that, with no more demur 
than a sigh and a shake of the head, he dropped two 
shillings into Mr. Clark’s extended palm, and silently 
added two threepenny pieces when that gentleman 
did not move at once. 

“I’ll be as quick as ever I can,” promised Mr. Clark, 
in going. “ ’Ere,” he sternly warned Mr. Dobb, “don’t 
you go a-doing anything rash while I’m away, and give 
me all me trouble for nothing! Wait till I come back, 
at any rate!” 

The envoy departed, and a couple of hours passed 
before his friends saw him again. Meanwhile, Mr. 
Tridge and Mr. Lock had devoted the interval to the 
benevolent purpose of cheering up Mr. Dobb, and so 
successful had they been that Mr. Clark, on his return, 
stood awhile at the threshold of the “Red Lion” tap- 
room to listen in amazement to the careless mirth 
within. 

For Mr. Dobb, fully persuaded by his companions 
that the encounter with Miss Radling did not necessarily 
presage evil, had become even more eloquent than 
they in voicing the folly of meeting trouble half-way. 
And now, drawing equally on reminiscence and inven¬ 
tion, the three were exchanging diverting anecdotes 
concerning occasions when alarm had proved groundless. 
Mr. Tridge had just concluded a droll story about a 
cheese in a sack, a policeman, a runaway horse, and 


226 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


himself, and Mr. Dobb and Mr. Lock were chuckling 
very heartily at the denouement, when Mr. Clark thrust 
open the door of the tap-room. 

“That’s right, ’Orace!” he observed, significantly. 
“You laugh while you can!” 

At these ill-omened words, the merriment faded 
abruptly, and Mr. Dobb was distinctly heard to 
groan. 

“I’ve seed ’er,” announced Mr. Clark; and advanc¬ 
ing, patted Mr. Dobb thrice on the shoulder, very slowly, 
and solemnly. 

“Well, then,” hotly cried Mr. Tridge, with due 
understanding of this action, “she’s a mink! That’s 
what she is—a mink!” 

“You take my advice, ’Orace,” recommended Mr. 
Clark. “Hostralia!” 

There was a little wait while the quailing Mr. Dobb 
was sorrowfully regarded by his three friends, as though 
even now they were bidding him farewell on his depar¬ 
ture to the Antipodes. Mr. Dobb gazed back, horror- 
struck, at each of his three companions in turn, and 
when his glance rested upon Mr. Lock, that gentleman 
rose and shook hands with him with a long and lingering 
clasp. And then Mr. Dobb shakily emptied each of the 
glasses on the table before him, and no one had the hard¬ 
ness of heart to bid him nay. 

And next, Mr. Clark proceeded to narrate his inter¬ 
view with Miss Radling. He had found her, it tran¬ 
spired, in the High Street, and had at length managed 
to recall himself to her memory, a task which had been 
rendered a little protracted by the fact that Miss 
Radling gave but superficial attention to him at first, 
being more zealously employed in taking close heed of 
the faces of all male passers-by. 


THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 227 


When, however, Miss Radling had recognized Mr. 
Clark as an old acquaintance of the “Jane Gladys” 
she had expressed the keenest satisfaction in meeting 
him, and had at once asked for the address of Mr. 
Horace Dobb. 

Mr. Clark immediately professed ignorance of Mr. 
Dobb’s whereabouts, but pretended to a vague belief 
that the late cook of the “ Jane Gladys” was now some¬ 
where in Scotland. Miss Radling promptly controverted 
this, stating with complete certainty that she had her¬ 
self seen Mr. Dobb in Shorehaven during that very 
afternoon. She had also added, with sinister vehem¬ 
ence, that she intended to see Mr. Dobb again and again 
before she had finished with him. 

“But—but—hut what for?” interposed the miser¬ 
able Mr. Dobb. 

“Just what I says to her,” responded Mr. Clark. 

“ ‘What for V I says. And she says as ’ow you was 
hengaged to ’er, and you ’adn’t wrote ’er a line for 
months. ‘Though/ she says, ‘the letters ’e wrote me 
before that is quite enough to do the trick. I’ve kept 
’em all/ she says, ‘and I’m going to get even with ’im 
some’ow. Either ’e’s got to put the banns up or else 
I goes to the best lawyer in Shore’aven. I’ve found 
out, by chance, that ’Orace Dobb is living in these parts, 
and/ says she-” 

“Now, ’ow the dooce did she find that out ?” ques¬ 
tioned Mr. Tridge, wrathfully. 

“Wasn’t the ‘Raven’ in ’arbour here a fortnight or so 
after you settled into your shop, ’Orace ?” put forward 
Mr. Lock. 

“It was!” bellowed Mr. Dobb. “Well, there’s a 
nasty, low, mean, under’and, sneaking trick to-” 

“Anyway,” said Mr. Clark, “she ’asn’t got your 




228 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


correct address. She said she’d been looking all over 
the town for a shop with Dobb on it. And nacherally I 
didn’t tell ’er that the board still showed your wife’s 
name of Goffley. And she didn’t know that you’re 
married yet, neither.” 

“Can’t you just see them ‘Raven’ chaps a-grinning 
when they fixed all this up for me ?” growled Mr. Dobb. 

“Did she seem sort of forgiving at all, Sam?” 
asked Mr. Lock. 

“Oh, dear me, no!” returned Mr. Clark. “Quite 
the contrary, in fact. You oughter seen the way she 
folded ’er lips. A nice-spoken, pleasant-looking, lady¬ 
like gal like that, too! I was surprised ’ow sharp and 
determined she could be.” 

And now Mr. Clark, with considerable pride in his 
diplomacy, proceeded to speak of the clever foundations 
he had laid for an alibi. Insisting that Mr. Dobb was 
not within a hundred miles of Shorehaven, he had 
admitted to Miss Radling that the remaining members 
of the “Jane Gladys” crew now resided in the town. 
This, he suggested to her, might explain matters. Con¬ 
fusion of identity, he had reminded her, was of frequent 
occurrence among the mercantile marine. 

“ ‘But I see ’Orace with my very own eyes,’ she says, 
and goes on to describe the very clothes you’re wearing, 
’Orace,” continued Mr. Clark. “ ‘Why,’ says I, ‘that 
just shows ’ow wrong you are! Them clothes is the 
clothes worn by Peter Lock on ’igh days and ’olidays/ 
I says.” 

Mr. Lock uttered an exclamation denoting surprise. 

“Well, I chose you because you was always the dressy 
one on the ‘Jane Gladys,’ Peter,” explained Mr. Clark. 
“ ‘That there’s Peter Lock in ’is Sunday clothes you 
saw,’ I tells ’er, ‘and you mistook ’im for ’Orace Dobb. 


THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 229 


You’ve forgot what ’Orace looked like, and Peter Lock 
’aving been on the ‘Jane Gladys,’ to your knowl¬ 
edge-” 

“That’s it, that’s it?” approved Mr. Dobb. “I’ll 
lend you these ’ere clothes, Peter, for a hour or two, if 
you takes care of ’em, and you can meet ’er in them and 
prove old Sam was right.” 

“Anyway, you can try to,” said Mr. Clark, soberly. 
“I must say she didn’t look altogether convinced, as 
it might be.” 

But Mr. Dobb, already excitedly divesting himself 
of his coat and waistcoat was paying no heed. And Mr. 
Lock, delicately massaging the nape of his neck with a 
forefinger, was immersed in thought. 

“Wait a bit!” he requested, coldly, at last. “Seems 
to me, if I don’t help you now, ’Orace, you’re in a tight 
corner ?” 

“Ah, I’m lucky to ’ave a true friend like you, Peter!” 
babbled Mr. Dobb. “Wonder if they’ve got a outhouse 
they can lend us for a few minutes ?” 

“And you’ve got a motto, too, ain’t you, ’Orace ?” 
went on Mr. Lock, in steely accents. “ ‘Strictly 
business’—that’s what has been your motto ever since 
you went into your shop, ain’t it ? Oh, you’ve drove 
it home to us often enough when it’s been convenient 
to you and ill-convenient to us. Well, my motto’s 
going to be ‘strictly business’ now!” he ended, 
firmly. 

“Meaning ?” invited Mr. Dobb, ceasing to struggle 
with a bootlace. 

“Meaning I don’t borrer clothes from nobody to help 
’em out of trouble. See ? If you want me to help you, 
you’ve got to give me that rig-out. See? Otherwise 
I shouldn’t dream of putting it on for a single moment.” 



230 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


Mr. Dobb agitatedly stigmatized this as blackmail 
and robbery, and Mr. Lock quite unemotionally agreed 
with him in this view, but declined to be affected by it. 
Mr. Tridge and Mr. Clark, with eyes that glistened 
admiringly on Mr. Lock, said that, to them, it seemed 
a very fair bargain. 

Ten minutes later Mr. Dobb and Mr. Lock made an 
exchange of vesture in an outhouse. Mr. Dobb some¬ 
what huffily declined to agree with Mr. Tridge and Mr. 
Clark in their openly expressed opinion that Mr. Lock 
looked a real toff in the hirsute garments. 

“I’ll stroll along with Peter and ’ave a look for Miss 
Radling,” said Mr. Tridge, as the quartet took their 
places in the ferry-boat. “I’ll be able to back him up 
by saying you don’t live anywhere in these parts. As 
for you, you’d better stay at ’ome while she’s in the 
town, ’Orace.” 

“Stay at ’ome ? I’m going straight to bed,” declared 
Mr. Dobb, “and I ain’t coming down again till the coast 
is quite clear, neither!” 

“That’s right,” said Mr. Tridge. “You leave it to 
me and Peter. We’ll convince ’er all right.” 

That same evening Mr. Dobb lay fretfully in bed, 
suffering from a vague ailment which, he averred, was 
not serious enough to demand a doctor, but too serious 
to permit of Mrs. Dobb’s ministrations as a nurse. In 
these circumstances, two visitors who called to see Mr. 
Dobb w T ere about to be sent away by his wife, when Mr. 
Dobb, who happened to be standing at his open bedroom 
door, gave orders that they should ascend to his apart¬ 
ment. 

“Well,” he asked, breathlessly, as Mr. Tridge and 
Mr. Lock entered, “ ’ave you convinced ’er % Is she 
gone ?” 


THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 231 


“No, she ain’t,” said Mr. Tridge, regretfully. “She’s 
looking for a situation in the town. And, do you know, 
I don’t believe she quite took in what we told ’er about 
mistaking Peter for you. I believe she’s sharper than 
we think.” 

“But you’ve got to make ’er believe it!” wrathfully 
snapped Mr. Dobb. 

“I doubt if she’s the sort you can make do anything,” 
said Mr. Lock. 

“A most determined young person,” said Mr. Tridge. 
“When she makes up ’er mind, I should say-” 

“She ain’t half bitter against you, ’Orace,” remarked 
Mr. Lock. “You ought to hear the things she said 
about you! What was that bit she told us about the 
bag of sweets, Joe?” 

“I don’t want to ’ear about sweets!” exclaimed Mr. 
Dobb, impatiently. “I want to ’ear about ’er 
plans!” 

“Well, she saicS she was going to try for two ’undred 
and fifty,” replied Mr. Tridge. “Soon as ever she knew 
where to find you, she said, she was coming round 

to-” 

Mr. Dobb, in an excess of nervous depression, dived 
beneath the bedclothes, moaning faintly. 

“This I will say,” maintained Mr. Lock. “Them 
chaps on the ‘Raven’ have gone a bit beyond a joke this 
time. Well, so-long, ’Orace! Keep smiling!” 

“We’ll do our best for you,” promised Mr. Tridge. 
“We’ll keep on telling ’er she was mistook this after¬ 
noon.” 

“You keep on letting ’er see you in them clothes, 
Peter, till she sees she’s wrong,” directed Mr. Dobb, 
reappearing. 

“I’m going to meet her to-morrow afternoon in them,” 




232 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


replied Mr. Lock. “Urn going to help her look for 
you” 

“ ’Ere !” croaked Mr. Dobb, in alarm; and then, 
at sight of Mr. Lock’s humorous eyelid, he smiled wanly. 
“You’re a artful one, Peter!” he stated. 

“I am!” agreed Mr. Lock; and followed Mr. Tridge 
down the stairs. 

Next evening, when Mr. Lock again called to report 
progress, Mr. Dobb was still clinging to the sanctuary 
of bed. 

“Well, you ain’t found me yet, then?” he asked, 
with effort to be cheerful. 

“Not yet,” admitted Mr. Lock, grinning. “We’ve 
been looking all over the place for you, too!” 

“Ain’t she losing ’eart yet ?” 

“I can’t say she is,” returned Mr. Lock, sorrowfully. 
“It only seems to make ’er firmer in mind. If you only 
knew how the soles of my feet was aching!” 

“She still thinks I’m about, eh ?” 

“She’s sure of it. She says she ain’t going to give 
up looking for you till she’s found you, if it takes ten 
years!” 

“There’s hobstinicy!” growled Mr. Dobb, dashed. 

“One thing, she ain’t going to find you as long as 
I’m helping her to look,” said Mr. Lock. “So it’ll be 
a long job, anyway.” 

“Thank you for nothing! I suppose you fancies 
yourself, walking about in all them la-de-da clothes with 
a attractive young female?” harshly suggested Mr. 
Dobb. 

“I do,” said Mr. Lock. 

“I—I wonder, Peter,” remarked Mr. Dobb, sitting 
up suddenly and striving to sound casual—“I wonder 
you don’t take up with ’er yourself!” 


THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 233 


“Can’t afford it, for one thing,” said Mr. Lock, 
quietly. 

“Walking about in a suit of clothes you’ve ’ad give 
to you don’t cost much,” contended Mr. Dobb. 

“Ah, but you can’t set up a home on a suit of 
clothes!” pointed out Mr. Lock, regretfully; and then 
he laughed quite merrily. “Why, I hardly know the 
young lady, either!” 

“A nice, pretty, well-spoken girl she is, too!” said 
Mr. Dobb. “Make any man a good wife, she would. 
I tell ^ou straight, if I wasn’t married-” 

“I must say, I can’t make out how you had the heart 
to do it, ’Orace,” observed Mr. Lock. 

“Neither can I, now! Serves me right! I—I 
couldn’t ever be really worthy of ’er. A nice, smart, 
good-looking young fellow, that’s ’oo she deserves for 
a ’usband. A young fellow just like you, Peter,” he 
ended softly. 

“Me ? Oh, I dunno!” murmured Mr. Lock, in 
confused modesty. 

“Well, I do!” cried Mr. Dobb. “You take my 
advice, my boy, and go in and win!” 

“And leave everything nice and clear for you, eh?” 
asked Mr. Lock. 

“I—I wasn’t thinking about myself,” said Mr. Dobb. 
“I ain’t so selfish as all that, Peter.” 

“Anyway, what’s the good of talking ?” demanded 
Mr. Lock, irritably. “I can’t afford to set up house¬ 
keeping. Where am I to get the furniture from for a 
start off ?” 

“Why, you can run up a bill with me!” quickly 
proffered Mr. Dobb. 

“That ain’t my idea, starting married life in debt.” 



234 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


“Well, I—I might give you a few things as a wedding 

present. Jugs and so on.” 

“Mind you, I wouldn’t mind taking up with her,” 
said Mr. Lock. “Looie—Miss Radling—she’s just 
my sort, and I don’t mind admitting that I’ve thought a 
lot about her since I met her yesterday. But-” 

“And—and to think that you was a ’ardy British 
mariner once!” urgently cried Mr. Dobb. “You go 
in and win!” 

“I reckon it’ll cost me all of fifty quid to set up 
a home,” said Mr. Lock, gazing squarely at Mr. Dobb. 

For a long time Mr. Dobb defiantly held Mr. Lock’s 
regard, and then he glanced away. 

“And, after all,” added Mr. Lock, softly, “it’ll come 
cheaper for you, ’Orace.” 

“I see what you’re after!” rasped Mr. Dobb. “Call 
that friendship ?” 

“No,” said Mr. Lock, honestly, “I don’t! I’m a 
sort of pupil of yours, ’Orace, and I calls it ‘strictly 
business’! However, we were only talking, after all. 
Good-night, old sport, and sleep well!” 

Two days elapsed. Mr. Dobb, attaining sufficient 
convalescence, had left his couch and spent most of his 
time behind his window curtain, watching the traffic 
of the street in considerable trepidation. And whenever 
the shop-bell jangled Mr. Dobb crept silently to the head 
of the stairs and stood there to listen with bated breath 
till persuaded that there was no cause for alarm. 

Mr. Lock had not visited him once during those two 
days, and the only news he had derived of that gentle¬ 
man was from Mr. Tridge, who, paying a brief visit, let 
fall the information that Mr. Lock and Miss Radling 
had been observed together at a matinee performance at 
the local kinema theatre. 




THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 235 


Mrs. Dobb had just locked the little shop for the 
night, and Mr. Dobb, upstairs, was feeling a consequent 
measure of relief, when the private bell rang. Mr. 
Dobb, as though pulled by the same wire, at once 
listened at the top of the stairs. Hearing only the 
voices of his wife and Mr. Lock, Mr. Dobb summoned 
the callers upstairs. 

“Thought you’d like to know,” said Mr. Lock, enter¬ 
ing the room and carefully closing the door, “me and 
Looie have fixed it all up this very afternoon.” 

“No!” cried Mr. Dobb, joyously. “Well, there’s 
quick work!” 

“I see I was wrong now to suggest about that fifty 
quid to you, ’Orace,” said Mr. Lock, penitently. 

“Don’t mention it!” begged Mr. Dobb. “I never 
give it another thought.” 

“Yes, I know now I was wrong,” repeated Mr. Lock. 
“Looie pointed it out to me soon as ever I told ’er.” 

“Ah, a nice, sensible, right-minded girl!” 

“Yes; as she says, if we wants money to set up house¬ 
keeping with, let’s wait till after-” 

“After what ?” asked Mr. Dobb, as Mr. Lock stopped. 

“Why, till after she’s got her breach of promise 
damages out of you. She reckons on at least a hundred 
and fifty.” 

“But—but now she’s hengaged to you she’s got no 
claim on me!” 

“They’ll only have your word at the court that she’s 
hengaged to me, ’Orace. We ain’t told no one else yet,” 
observed Mr. Lock, happily. “By the way, I’m bring¬ 
ing her round to see you to-morrow.” 

“She’ll never get a hundred and fifty pounds out of 
me !” 

“No; but she’ll have a jolly good try to! In any 



236 


“STRICTLY BUSINESS” 


case, I bet sbe don’t get less than a clear fifty, so we 
shan’t be no worse ofi,” said Mr. Lock. “And on the 
other hand, your missis-” 

Mr. Dobb, with his hands clasped at the back of 
that garment he euphemistically described as a 
dressing-gown, stalked moodily about the bedroom for a 
few moments. The voice of Mrs. Dobb, engaged in a 
trifling dispute with a neighbour, came shrilly up to 
him and he shivered. 

“All right, I’m beat!” he yielded. “Talk about 
nourishing a viper!” 

“I’ll call round to-morrow morning and go to the 
bank with you, ’Orace,” said Mr. Lock. 

And it was so. 

In rather less than six weeks’ time the wedding of Mr. 
Peter Lock and Miss Louise Radling was solemnized. 
The occurrence is still remembered in Shorehaven, very 
largely on account of the extreme height and niggardly 
circumference of Mr. Samuel Clark’s top-hat, and for 
the remarkable exhibition of agility given by the best 
man, Mr. Joseph Tridge, out in the High Street, towards 
the close of the festivities. 

Mr. Horace Dobb, an old friend of the bridegroom 
and bride, attended the ceremony, in company with 
Mrs. Horace Dobb. Many people subsequently ex¬ 
pressed the opinion that Mr. Dobb took the affair far 
too seriously for a mere guest. 

It was just before Mr. and Mrs. Peter Lock were 
setting forth on their honeymoon that the newly fledged 
husband summoned Mr. Dobb aside. 

“You must be sure to come and see us in our little 
’ome when we come back, ’Grace,” said Mr. Lock, 
fondly. “I’m sure no one’s got a better right among 
our pals to sit on them tables and chairs-” 




THE GIRL HE LEFT BEHIND HIM 237 


“All right!” growled Mr. Dobb. “Don’t rnb it in!” 

“I just want to tell you something, though. You 
know that motto of yours what you’ve got painted on a 
board hanging in your shop? ‘Strictly business,’ it 
says, don’t it? Well, mottoes is like curses—they 
come home to roost sometimes!” 

“Meaning ?” loftily queried Mr. Dobb. 

“Why, I felt so sorry for Looie when she come down 
to the old ‘Jane Gladys’ to ask for you, and you’d 
jilted her, that I—I got sort of writing to her to cheer 
her up; and before long we got engaged. Oh, four or 
five months ago it must have been, though we didn’t 
tell anybody! You see, I’d got an idea up my sleeve, 
and I was only waiting till my wages was raised.” 

“Then—then—then really she was hengaged to you 
when she come to Shore’aven ?” queried Mr. Dobb, in a 
stifled voice. 

“She was. Why, it was me who managed the whole 
thing. It was me who wrote and told her to come to 
Shore’aven. It was me who told her what to say to 
Sam and Joe.” 

“You—you—you-” breathed Mr. Dobb, irately; 

and then became aware of the approach of Mrs. Dobb. 
“You mind you don’t miss your train,” he finished, 
lamely. 

Late that same evening Mr. Dobb took a small lettered 
board off a nail in his shop. In grim silence he surveyed 
its legend of “Strictly Business!” . . . 

Mrs. Dobb, coming down next morning to light the 
kitchen fire, found that self-same panel, neatly chopped 
into very small pieces, lying ready to her hand in the 
fender. 


THE END 



















» 































/ 


MAY l > 


































































